Having decided that my hair was in desperate need of some care and attention, I decided to be brave and try to get my hair done. The word for hairdresser in Portuguese is Cabeleleiro (and no, I still can't pronounce it properly) and because of that I decided to do the coward's way and go to El Cortes Ingles where I thought I could wing it. Well after prowling ladies underwear twice (very glamorous and quite a lot of men wandering around!), I approached an assistant and managed to make myself understood and she directed me to a very smart hairdressing salon.

Well the interesting thing was that not one of them spoke English so I found one who spoke French and the rest was down to sign language and pointing at pictures in magazines (I knew that word at least but as for tint, cut etc forget it). There is no appointment system apparently in this country, you turn up and just wait. I got there around 4.00 and left at 8.00!

I decided I was sick of being my wonderful three shades of red as it had gone a very strange colour in the sun so thought I would go back to blonde. This was indicated to the staff by pointing at an assistant with what I thought was a nice shade of blonde streak! You are given the usual gown but you have a pocket on the arm into which they put what treatment you are having i.e. cut, colour, manicure, pedicure etc.

The backwash is very high tech; the chair has a series of buttons on the inside of the chair arm which allows you to raise the lower part of the chair so you are practically lying down. All the women are beautifully turned out as you would expect and as it was all a bit of an adventure, I decided to go the whole hog and had a pedicure and manicure as well. This is quite entertaining as the manicurist follows you around whilst you are having your hair washed, cut, coloured etc. All in all it was a great experience and my hair looked brilliant as well as my nails. Cost-wise it was on a par with where I used to go in Bath, but it was a high class department store.

Some other interesting things about the city are the fact that the metro system is small and very efficient. It is also amazingly clean and considering the seven months of hell I had using the District Line, someone from LT should take a look. You never seem to wait more than five minutes for one either. The trams are good fun. The No.28 is one that does a circular trip and is very handy if you are down in town with a heavy bag – Lisbon is made up of seven hills and I live on one of them! The fare is 1 Euro! I got stuck in a tram jam the other week which as amusing as it means that no cars can get by as trams have right of way. There were four No.28s in a row. Before I got on it, I heard one of the old dears waiting at the bus stop saying that she had seen four No. 28s go the other way and none hers – reminiscent of the London bus problem.

I never fail to be amazed as how silly some of the tourists are over their personal safety here. When I was wandering around Feira da Ladra (Thieves Market held every Saturday and Tuesday), you spot them with rucksacks or big bags on their backs and it is so easy for pickpockets to lift wallets and purses from them in crowds. Women in particular seem to lose all common sense – they wear totally inappropriate outfits and cause great amusement when you see them bright red and staggering around in shoes suitable for premieres rather than sightseeing. There again men who are follically challenged really ought to wear hats!

We went to the outskirts of Sintra (Lord Byron thought it was wonderful – gardens, palaces etc etc) with a friend who has a car and investigated a garden centre. Now this was interesting. There were the usual pots etc but the plants were fascinating. Large bougainvilleas, lemon trees, lime trees, climbing roses, herbs etc. Some plants were the same as in the UK and others were new to me. I settled for pots (60p for terracotta 23″ ones!), some herbs, a climbing rose, something called a plumbago and an amazing large lavender. Inside it has the usual candles, pot pourri, plastic flowers etc – it's run by an Englishman apparently. After we had finished there, my friend took us to Sintra to try a tearoom. Everything in the tearoom was for sale, from the plates to the pictures. It was a very eclectic mix and had that “I think we should whisper” atmosphere that you find in posh tearooms like Castle Combe! Anyway they do a mean cream tea, which consists of three scones (warm), jam and cream, a piece of cake and a tea of your choice – excellent! Afterwards, to walk it all off, we wandered around Sintra.

Sintra was where the Portuguese Royal Family used to escape to in height of the summer heat. There are some amazing houses/villas as well as palaces on the top of mountains and in the main square. One of the palaces, the Pena, you sometimes see on tourist posters – it looks like something mad King Ludwig of Bavaria would have built. It's all different designs and colours and quite spectacular to get to.

I have got involved with a local theatre group – The Lisbon Players – via my Portuguese teacher. She invited Derek and I to go to a workshop on Shakespeare's Measure for Measure. It was a very entertaining evening and by the time we left, I had been asked if I would like to get more involved with them. I have now been made Stage Manager for the production as well as Task Force Director to help them raise funds and gain a higher profile.

They operate out of a lovely old theatre – Estrela Hall – that originally used to belong to the British Hospital. It has a certain faded glamour (dust) and does quite a few productions each year. We start work on the production in the next two weeks and then I shall be thoroughly occupied most Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, Friday evenings with rehearsals all the way through to Christmas. Obviously it is unpaid but it means you meet new people, which is great. Shakespeare is very popular with the Portuguese and is on their education programmes so you get a good mix of audience.

Sally can be contacted by e-mail on: Sallypethybridge@aol.com should you wish to ask her any questions about Lisbon or Portugal in general.

I am an artist and one who, not surprisingly, is drawn (no pun intended) to the sun, the sea and a beautiful landscape. Now, obviously, you don't need to be an artist to appreciate those sorts of things. I, on the other hand, do like to make paintings of them and it is because of that I would like to speak of a group of islands that lie off the north coast of Sicily. They are called the Aeolian islands and there are seven of them, steeped in history and wound into the fabric of myth. That, as they say, is another story, for now I would like to explore briefly only two of the seven islands and the first of those is called Stomboli.

Arriving at a small jetty, a long beach of black volcanic sand stretches away to your right and the tangle of tiny streets of Stromboli village lie ahead. Jasmine and bougainvillaea ramble over the garden walls, the narrow lanes are lively with scooters and “ape” a type of tiny three wheeled truck. Walkers are there, kited out for the rocky paths to the volcano summit. Behind you the spiky outline of islets break the blue water.

It takes about an hour, walking along a pleasant road through fields, from the square in front of a pretty church, at the top of the village, to the lower slopes of the mountain. Another couple of hours on a steep but well-marked path brings you to the peak, 918 meters up and as you arrive the craters explode dramatically, shooting stones and hot ash high into the air. This happens every twenty minuets or so and it's quite safe as long as you stay on the paths, strong shoes are a good idea, the ground is hot. These regular explosions give rise to the term ” strombolic action ” which prevents pressure building up to a major eruption.

By day the view of the other islands is stunning. Particularly from the high ridge on the southern side. Night hikes with a guide, or a night boat trip to the north-eastern side of the island offer spectacular views of the red hot lava flows and fiery explosions.

From there you board the ferry and eventually arrive at Alicudi. On the map, if you've got one to hand, it is on the other end of the group, the most isolated and the next island that I would like to speak of. Uniquely car free, Alicudi is a near perfect cone, over six hundred meters high and only 2.5 kilometres across. The rugged slopes are covered with huge prickly pear cactus, gorse, carob, olive and wild apricot trees. Surprisingly, in times not long past, over a thousand people lived on this tiny island supporting themselves by growing their crops on narrow terraced fields.

Over the years that number has dwindled and the population is now only about one hundred and life is quiet. Mains electricity arrived no more than a decade ago and the major water supply is still rainfall, caught off roofs and collected in wells on the terrace of each house. It is charming and quaint.

Hawks and ravens wheel high above and bright green lizards dash away as you explore. The sea is very clean and rich with fish, shrimp and shellfish, and, so the locals tell me, ideal for snorkelling although I've never done it but, from the look of it, I could well imagine.

At night you can see the lights off Sicily's north coast, 20 kilometres away and on days when the haze has evaporated, about this time of year, the snow covered slopes of Mount Etna are visible, the black summit streaked with red lava. Colour seems to be the theme of these islands, it really is a painters paradise, so much so that you don't need to be a painter or an artist at all to appreciate it. The imagery around you is just so strong and peaceful at the same time, the countryside so unspoiled. It is just one of those places. I have painted in country that is beautiful to the eye but putting it down on paper can be very difficult. One finds ones self inventing, a bit of red here, a bit of yellow there, not because it's in front of your eyes but because the painting needs it and so you make it up. Alicudi and the other islands are not like that in the least, the place is there to paint. The hand runs riot along with the eye. To my mind, not only an easy place to paint but a pleasure and pure joy, if for nothing else but to just sit and look. A tiny little haven almost at the end of Europe.

Murray Hubick is Canadian, now living in Kent in the U.K. As an artist his time is divided between work in the studio, teaching art and as much travelling as possible. He is currently in the process of organising an art excursion to the islands for the coming Christmas/New year and would welcome anyone interested to join him in having an espresso overlooking the sea in the sun on New Years morning.

Murray is happy to answer any questions on Sicily, so please e-mail him on: murrayr@onetel.net.uk

The tourist season in Oslo starts around the middle of June and finishes in the middle of September. The 15^th of September, to be precise.

This means that going to Oslo in October is not such a great idea. The second mistake was not only visiting Oslo in October but also flying there with Ryanair. A very bad move as Ryanair lands in Torp, some 100km away from Oslo where there is only a Ryanair bus to take you the 2 hour journey into Oslo. Torp airport is small, very small, the size if Cork perhaps (another Ryanair destination in Ireland) and there is little to do when your flight is delayed or waiting for luggage. There is also little tourist info at Torp.

By October, Oslo is beginning to be cold. The first day of the Beetle weekend, temperatures were around 6^OC and the next day it snowed. If you don't do cold, this is not the time and place for you. Take a hat, gloves and a scarf, plus a warm coat and good walking shoes.

OK, what is there to see: well, the “attractions” consist mainly of walking around the town (it's small), seeing the royal palace, the university, the Parliament building, the town hall, visiting the Arkhus Castle, taking boat trips, (summer months only), and visiting the 20 or so museums, none of which have free entrance. That is Oslo in a nutshell. You will not want to eat, have coffee or go shopping – it is so prohibitively expensive! Also, the shops are closed on Sundays and the museums have shorter opening times so that after about 3pm, on a Sunday, in Oslo, there is very little to do – so book your return flight for the late afternoon!

Spending more than a weekend in Oslo might necessitate considering your finances, maybe a second mortgage: it is breathtakingly expensive – about 50- 100% more than central London prices!

The next mistake was to buy an Oslo card. The Beetle could only find one guidebook in the whole of Stamfords, (the most wonderful travel bookshop on this earth – funny, that …), but both the guidebook and the local literature, of which there was plenty (thanks goodness!) all said that we should buy an Oslo card and this would entitle us to free entrance to all of the museums and local transport.

A 2 day Oslo pass costs around £25 or $40 per person. This allows the holder free entrance into all Oslo museums and free transport around the city. As museum entrance only costs around £2.50 or $4, it became a challenge to visit as many museums as possible in order to get our money's worth! However, our vfm did not take into account public transport – when we added in the cost of a day ticket for the bus, train and tram, (£5 or $8) we just broke even.

The Kon-Tiki museum is disappointing: small, amateurish with bizarre exhibits including polystyrene sharks. Very odd. The Fram museum was one of the better ones: a small-ish A frame building, built around the original early 20^th century ship used by Amundson and others in voyages to Antartica. The Viking museum houses 3 10^th century long boats and even if you are a Viking buff, it'll take you about 20 minutes. The Museum if the Inquisition was plain upsetting. The Beetle's fave place was Viegland Park, a park a short tram ride out of town with a collection of sculptures and statues. The Oslo city museum was dire; about a third of the exhibits were labelled in Norwegian only! The ski Museum is one of the most expensive museums to get into – entrance fee around £7 or $11 but you get to go up to the top of the old Olympic ski jump. We had to go there to get value for money and also take in the views of the city!

The transport system is excellent, frequent, clean, modern and fast. There were many fast food outlets – Kentucky, Burger King, McDonalds – when you see the prices in the restaurants, you can start to understand why. Eat well at your hotel by stocking up on the buffet breakfasts is the Beetle's advice! The people were friendly enough, but compared to the last Beetle visit, an embarrassing 15 years ago, the city was surprisingly dirty, the walls had graffiti sprayed on, and there were a few people begging on the street – not at all the clean Scandinavian image the Beetle had imagined, but then it is a capital city and perhaps nowhere is exempt from these problems.

If you want to visit Oslo – go in the summer months! Then you can take boat trips and visit the fjords. For more info on Oslo, contact the Beetle on: Beetle@globetrotters.co.uk

It may be cheap (but not always), but it certainly isn't clever. And it definitely isn't funny! Flying Ryanair is not the fantastic low cost and cheerful option that it is made out to be. First, the low cost airlines (Ryanair, Buzz, and Easyjet/Go) have made Stansted their main hub.

Stansted is a major pain to get to and from as it is situated some 68km north of Central London and the principal way, to get there using public transport, is on the Stansted Express from Liverpool St in Central London. A return ticket from Liverpool St in central London costs £23 – not cheap for the 50 minute journey each way. If you arrive back into Stansted after midnight, the chances are that you will have missed the last train, because they do not always wait for the last flight, so the alternative to travel back to London is by expensive taxi – we are talking £60+ (or $100+). Now that the Stansted Express no longer runs on Sundays due to rail works, you have to take a painfully long coach journey that takes around 2 hours.

Secondly, one of the particularly unendearing habits practiced by BAA (British Airports Authority) at Stansted is to be selective as to which flights they decide to put up on the flight information screens. This lack of info seems to apply particularly to Ryanair flights. This means that you could be sitting waiting in the check in area for your flight check in information to appear on screen and it never does. A weary frequent Ryanair traveller warned the Beetle that this happens frequently, so a lesson learned is to occasionally prowl around the airport to check that your flight hasn't already started checking in. This happened to the Beetle going to Trieste, resulting in a late check in, only 15 minutes before the gate closed, reducing the amount of time available for foraging for duty free chocolate (and other Beetle fodder) to a minimum!

Thirdly, Ryanair do not give you a boarding pass with a printed seat number – it is free seating. What a nightmare, all those people with their sharp elbows. Dignified British queuing (um, no!) turns out in reality as a training opportunity for a rugby scrum! Is it really too much trouble to put seat numbers on a ticket?

Once you have wrestled your way on board, you may think about reading material to while away the excessive amount of time spent on the runway awaiting clearance to depart. You'd be disappointed. There is no reading material whatsoever; no free newspapers or magazines to read. The staff do hand out a brochure with pictures of perfumes and silly Ryan Air models (as if!!) and then when you approach landing, you are requested to hand them back again! (There really isn't anything worth reading in them anyway all, unless you like looking at pictures of grey coloured pearl necklaces.) Buzz, by contrast have excellent info brochures with information about your destination, what to see, where to go, recommendations on where to eat, day trips away etc.

Fifthly, forget on-board entertainment or headphones, music or films – the only entertainment to be had is to observe the no frills service you are paying for, for example, watching the faces of the uninitiated when they are asked to pay £4 ($6) for a sandwich, and £1.50 ($2) for a small and nasty coffee. For her trip to Oslo, the Beetle took a flask of coffee, much to the envy of fellow passengers and the annoyance of the air crew. (Buzz do the best and very drinkable coffee if you have a choice! Also recommended by our Webmaster!)

Even for someone of limited height, (5'2”), the seats are cripplingly unrealistically tiny with next to no leg room. Even the Beetle's knees touched the seat in front.

Sixthly, presumably also to cut costs, passengers are responsible for cleaning; whilst I agree with our webmaster that passengers should be tidy and take their rubbish away with them at the end of their journey, the Ryanair way is to have 2 “hostesses” walk down the aisle with a big bin liner open. You are required to lean over your fellow passengers and throw your rubbish in the bin liner as they walk by. Talk about target practice. It is one of my nightmares that one day, someone will actually use the sick bag provided (the only object to be found on your seat pocket) and be too embarrassed to try and throw it into this walking bin bag, so they'll leave it for me to find, whilst thinking oh, that's strange there actually is something in my seat pocket, I wonder what it is!

Seventh: the staff. My theory is that people who work for Ryanair failed to pass the Aeroflot entrance exams. Rudeness, ability to glare and make unnecessarily snotty remarks are all prerequisites for hiring. As for the pilots, flying Ryanair for them must be their first job out of pilot school. The Beetle has never, ever had a smooth two tyred landing on the handful of flights she has been with them.

But my biggest complaint about Ryanair: it's not just the poor service, which is abominable, it's not the supercilious staff, the lack of decent coffee or seat numbers, it's the fact that to cut costs, they often do not fly into the main airport in a city – and they don't even warn you about it on booking! The Beetle finds this practice offensively misleading. For example, if you want to fly to Copenhagen in Denmark, you actually arrive into Sweden and have to take a bus journey back into Denmark.

The Beetle recently flew Ryanair to Oslo. It was only after she had booked the tickets when she investigated how to get from the airport to the centre of Oslo, that she realised that Torp airport, where Ryanair fly into is 100km away from Oslo. At no time was this made clear when booking on-line, even though the booking was for Oslo. Had this been made abundantly clear, the Beetle would have gone elsewhere.

Not only is it 100 km away from Oslo, but there is no public transport after 8pm to Oslo from Torp (and even then, it is a very expensive taxi ride to the train station) as Torp is a very small sleepy little town. The Ryanair dedicated coach cost around £20 or $30 return and took 2 miserable hours so that a 7.25pm Stansted departure resulted in the Beetle arriving at her Oslo city centre hotel at almost 1am – and it is a 1 ½ hr flight and a one hour time difference. Do the math, as they say! The real airport in Oslo, where all of the other carriers fly into has excellent transport connections and takes less than half an hour from Oslo city centre by train. Never again!

For more info on Ryanair, visit: http://ryanair.com/

What do you think? Do you have a fave or hated airline? Want to get an airport or airline off your chest? Drop the Beetle a line: beetle@globetrotters.co.uk