In Nice I have a friend who manages a ‘Grand Hotel’ on the Boulevard des Anglais called the Westminster, slightly faded since its Edwardian heyday when expeditions like mine were undertaken by gentlemen. It strikes me as a suitable place from which to say a last Good-bye, and the ‘ departing explorer’ poses for a picture by the potted palm outside the revolving door. We had hoped to line the hotel staff up outside, but the union wouldn’t allow it.
