Failte gu Alba (Welcome to Scotland)

Fatigue finally set in after 14 days of travelling. I spent Thursday in a state of continuous tiredness while Daryl was sporting additional baggage under his eyes in support of my own. 

We arrived in Scotland late Wednesday night, after an uneventful ferry ride into Cairnryan on the west coast. The ferry, one of the Stena Line fleet, was lovely compared to the one we travelled on to Ireland. Clean, high class food, and only a few hundred travellers, we had a whole area to ourselves and before we knew it the trip was over. The only down side was the very slow wifi. In the end we gave up and simply enjoyed the view. Finding a sweet little hotel we arrived and stayed on the outskirts of Girvan. Never quite knowing what we have booked into, we were pleasantly surprised to find a clean room, with tea/coffee making facilities and shutters to block out the light. Daryl did in fact squeal with joy.

Unfortunately, my efforts to walk mountains in Northern Ireland had caught up with me and I must admit the pain levels increased dramatically, making sleep a challenge.  So, a quieter day was in order. Checking out the local town, Girvan, leaves a lot to be desired. Dark and bland streets were littered with rubbish, the waterway emitted a distinctly fishy odour from the docked boats and payment of 30p was required in order to pee. Daryl discovered that it was necessary 

to take your wallet to the WC otherwise no entry, no matter how full your bladder. We decided to stroll along the beach and discovered the water of the northern sea was very cold, chilling not only our toes but our bones as well. The sand is a gritty grey, a rather ordinary, poor cousin to our lovely Australian waters. The Girvan coffee is also questionable and it was poured onto an ocean weed after the first hesitant taste. Girvan did nothing to lift our spirits so we moved on in the direction of Culzean Castle and Country Park.

Well the contrast couldn’t be more stark. Enchanting, beautiful and simultaneously horrific the story behind the castle and the people who built it, is intriguing. We spent over two hours wandering the restored rooms and gardens around the castle. National Trust volunteers man each room and provide additional detail to the hundreds of visitors each day. An introduction to the Culzean Castle reads: Present day visitors to Culzean are enchanted by the approach to the castle as, from the top of the hill with its superb panoramic view over the firth of Clyde, the drive 

winds through wooded countryside towards the ruined arch and viaduct which leads to the front 

door. One can only marvel at its truly spectacular sea. To medieval eyes, however, in a Scotland riven with ferocious and bloody family feuds, the very qualities that make Culzean a scenic delight are the ones that made this site more important tactically. Protected by tall cliffs and the sea on one side and a steep glen on the other, any house built here was a fortress. 

Following a lovely morning tea by the sea, we took our weary selves and drove northwards towards Ayr. On the way we were distracted by the Robert Burns Birthplace Museum and decided it was worth a stop. Robert Burns was born in a small cottage in 1759 and became Scotland’s favourite son and national bard - he is described as an extraordinary poet, egalitarian and international icon. His works are the cornerstone of Scotland’s literary heritage and his legacy has held strong for over two centuries. The museum is captivating and the surrounding gardens and walks including the Brig a’doon, very large monument to Burns and his birthplace cottage are worth the time to explore. His story is a colourful one and the museum presents an 

in-depth collection of works from his time and life. Every time I sing Auld Lang Syne I will think of my visit here. 

By late afternoon we made our way to Glasgow, finding a last minute room on the West Bank in Finnieston. The Hilton Garden Inn, became our base for the next two nights, and again we were blessed with a decent bed, curtains and a laundry. We spent the remainder of the evening washing and drying our clothes. Daryl met a a young man called Jake, from the Isle of Skye, so to the sounds of the washing machine whirring in the background, Jake provided valuable local knowledge and information for the naive travellers. The timing was most fortunate as our intended destination in a few days is the Isle of Skye. The next morning the sun shone brightly over us. The locals told us they rarely see sunshine and so when we arrived with full sun, and warmer than average temperatures, we watched them, with some surprise, bake in any outdoor area they could find.  Hundreds of people laid out in parklands, cafes and riversides to catch the 

unexpected rays. By the end of our day we saw many red skinned locals who may have underestimated the impact of lounging in the sun unprotected. For the first time since leaving Charles and Karen’s home we didn’t get in the car choosing instead to use the tourist on-off bus around Glasgow. This proved to be a good idea given the vast area this city covers. Neither Daryl nor I fell in love with Glasgow, it’s old buildings are dull and dreary to look at, in need of some cleaning, the rubbish that litters the streets combined with the many homeless sleeping rough made you feel more wary than relaxed. The stark contrast between those that have and those that don’t is clearly defined in this city and this is displayed in the people’s museum of Glasgow. Galsgow developed dramatically on the back of the tobacco trading, ship and locomotive building, all of which thrived thanks to ruthless business men and a slave trade. Recording the history of the development of the city, the museum portrays a hard life for the city’s many residents, thousands who lived in the tenements, apartment style housing that saw up to four 

families living in cramped unhygienic conditions in one or two rooms. No running water, no toilet, very communal in nature. Washing was completed in large washing rooms - steam houses and the women who went there became iconically known as “steamies”. The weekly event became the source for not only providing clean clothes for the family, who I might add at this stage rarely bathed, but for gathering of news and gossip of the neighbourhood. A sense of sisterhood was formed by the Steamies, most of whom lived with domestic violence and poverty exacerbated by alcohol abuse and too many children. Some of the tenements are still used today, but with less residents sharing and modern conveniences now added. The culture of drinking to excess is still evident and there are bars and pubs on every street. It was not uncommon to see folk drinking lager with their breakfast. On the flip side the wealthy lived to excess and their homes are resplendent with objects of wealth and convenience for the era. We visited the Town Hall of 

Glasgow and if you see the photos you will note the marble staircases which cover three floors. 

The opulence is remarkable on one hand, it contains more marble than the Queen’s palace, while  outside through heavy, solid carved doors, the poor beg on the streets. 

We also toured the Glasgow cathedral and Daryl was amazed that the building didn’t fall in on him and then spent the next hour staring at the ornate ceilings, the decorative stained glasswindows and intricate details that make up the physical structure of this famous church. Worshippers sat in silent reverence while others clicked away furiously on their cameras trying to capture the engineering masterpiece that is this building constructed in the 15th century and is the oldest cathedral on mainland Scotland. The famous Glasgow necropolis is again a vast display of money spent on the dead while the living struggle to feed their children. The cemetery overlooks the river and is grand. Some of the tombs date back so long that the concrete stones no longer reveal those interred. A somber walk up a very steep hill. 

After a cup of tea and more food, we noticed a small sign to the Anne Frank exhibition and took a short stroll to visit the centre. Such a sad and tragic display of the plight of Anne Frank and the thousands of Jews persecuted during this time combined with more recent atrocities inflicted on 

people based on racism, ignorance and greed. We walked away feeling sad at the capacity of humans to harm and hurt to such lengths; then thankful for the freedom of Australia and the fortune of our families to not endure such conflict. 

After a brief, late afternoon reprieve in our room, we ventured out again to experience the Glasgow nightlife and take in some local shopping. The shopping precinct rival Melbourne or Sydney and the streets echoed with the voices and footsteps of thousands of tourists and locals alike on a Friday evening. After supporting the local community, once again purchasing some gifts for those back home, we found a funky little bar, and sampled some of their delights. 

Listening to the array of accents we found ourselves, on more than one occasion, requesting the 

speaker to repeat their question or comment. It seems we don’t speak Scottish very well. We 

walked the Glasgow streets in search of a pub for dinner, by now it was nearly nine o’clock and the sun was still shining brightly. The city has a distinctly working class atmosphere and it seemed the people party hard on a Friday night. Every pub had people on the pavement, the smell of tobacco is strong with more women than men filling the streets with smoke. After sidestepping a small brawl, leaving the drunken man, pinned to the floor, with four others holding him down, we found a smaller, pub just around the corner. It was hot and bursting with people. It had a good feel about it, so we found a corner table, conveniently with a view to the previous scene of the brawl and so could see the ending of the tale with the police called to take the now restrained reveller away. The meal was good hearty pub fair, the drinks were generous and the people good natured. Once we sorted the accents out, Daryl had an enlightening conversation 

With the waiter about the steak pie that wasn’t and discovered it is known as a lazy Scottish pie. Essentially slow cooked meat in a tasty sauce with a puff pastry casing set to look like a pie, placed on top of the meat. While Daryl felt a bit ripped off, he ate every morsel without cause for complaint. Ending the night we caught a traditional old style London cab and returned to our hotel. On the way the cab driver, a 75 year old gent, who said he was still driving taxies a couple of hours a week, so he didn’t die young, entertained us with a story about his cousin in Sydney. We tipped him well and it seems he may have been our highlight of Glasgow. A final cocktail, a game of pool and a bizarre dating show called #Naked Attraction finished off our evening. 

When the alarm sounded we were pleased to say goodbye to Glasgow and head for the famous Scottish Highlands.

Until next time,

N

Northern Ireland - a land of contrasts.

One of the issues with travelling through foreign countries is sometimes getting your facts correct. So in my musings and muddling, touring and tasting I have got my Ireland’s mixed up. Hence, when I can I will be changing the name to our album once again. Northern Ireland is part of the UK, speaking in the imperial language while Ireland is fiercely independent of the UK and holds fast to its Celtic-Gaelic origins. My apologies to anyone of either persuasion who may have been confused or offended. 

Despite my error, the reality is that both countries are startling and inspiring. Architecture, landscape and shores with cliffs that would rival the most magnificent in the world. Yet they both carry the scars and stain from bloodshed spilled throughout its turbulent history.

Once in Northern Ireland we were keen to explore some of their wilderness and as always we were drawn to the coast. A short drive from our castle, Ballygally, we arrived at Carrick-A-Rede rope bridge. Carrick-a-Rede from the Scottish Gaelic Carraig-a-Rade means rock in the road. The road is the sea route for Atlantic salmon on their westward journey past Carrick island. The story states that for over 350 years fisherman strung a rope bridge  30 metres above the sea to allow them access to the best places to catch  migrating salmon. The bridge is now a destination to thousands of tourists who brave the winds and cross the bridge, 60 metres in length supported by rope and fashioned with two timber planks placed side by side to walk on. Getting to the bridge is a feat

on its own. My hips let me know on both lengths of the journey that they did not appreciate my efforts. Gently supported and encouraged by Daryl I managed the short but steep decent to the bridge and then crossed it. My reality is simple, do things in spite of hip pain, otherwise I will end up the size of an ancient castle, crusty and cranky and dead from boredom. Recently I commented to a friend that you learn to live with chronic pain and simply manage the ferocity of it rather than try to avoid it. So onwards and upwards over rocky gravel tracks, steps of varying depths and steepness to experience the bridge walk. What a sight it is, sheer majesty at every turn. The first cross over was hesitant, as the bridge sways and bounces, with up to eight people on it at any one time. I couldn’t look down but focussed on the end of the bridge. Daryl, more confident than I, was also a bit more cautious, placing feet carefully on the planks, although I was sure it was him who was making the bridge bounce unnecessarily. He says he didn’t! 

The smell of bird faeces is unpleasant, so watch which way the wind blows. Again, like the Cliffs of Moher, the protection of the coastline provides an ideal sanctuary for thousands of birds. The water is clear and you can see large crabs scurrying over the floating circular masses of seaweed. The calmness of the sea today invites you to think about kayaking along its shore but I have no doubt when the fierce winds blow it would be a fatal decision to be out in the water. 

People from all parts of the world conversed, gasped for breath and struggled up the journey. We picked languages including a French, Spanish, German and Chinese and American. Some people clearly researched their destination and  dressed  appropriately for the walk in walking shoes and light weight clothing along with a water bottle, others packed for unexpected storms carrying mountains of jackets while parents trudged along with children, their packs and favoured toys, then there is the few who must look their best on all occasions and who look ridiculous clambering up and down a mountain in coiffed hair, wedged heels and silk pants! 

Some people brought their dogs for a walk, but they along with any other animals, apart from humans are not allowed on the bridge. A short walk from the car park is a lime quarry based on Sheep Island- the sign board reads it was named so because it was considered to have been able to “fatten 9, feed 10 ten and starve 11 sheep”. 

Further along the road heading to Giant’s Causeway we found the perfect location - where the wildness of the coast meets the soft sands of a small secluded beach, where your front door opens to the North Atlantic sea, protected by the cliffs and creating a sheltered cove. If we were exceptionally wealthy I would move our family here and take over the little village - what a delightful dream.

Moving on we ventured to the Giant’s Causeway and marvelled at the work of nature. Here our membership to the National Trust came in handy for the second time, saving us quite a few pounds. We appreciated the advice given to us before we left to take out membership (thanks Sue & Tony). The Giant’s Causeway is a must see and defies imagination, as does the tall tale of Finn (the creative giant who created the rocky masterpiece). The Causeway is described as an area of about 40,000 interlocking basalt columns, the result of an ancient volcanic figure eruption. It was declared a world heritage site by UNESCO in 1986 and was named the fourth greatest natural wonder in the United Kingdom. The tops of the columns form stepping stones that lead from the cliff foot and disappear under the sea. Most of columns are hexagonal in shape and thousands of tourists walk across them, experiencing a mesmerising view. We walked the long, slow decent to the base of the Causeway, but piked it coming up and took the bus ( free forNational Trust members!) back up the mountain.

With aching bones and muscles complaining from over activity, we got back in our little hire car and hit the road for Londonderry about an hours drive away. Passing picture postcard scenery we noted the coloured doors, reminiscent of Ireland and other parts of the UK. Grey drab, often stone walled buildings are painted with colourful walls, window panes and doors, most choose a bright red to greet their guests. This brightens up what could be a very dull street. Flower pots both hanging and at ground level are also prolific in the UK. The mass of colour from the flowers at this time of year is abundant and makes you feel positive just seeing them. Another quirky feature of the UK, making our trip a little slower, are tractors laden with hay mowers in front as well as both sides returning home from a long’s day work. Tractors travel on the UK roads without concern, it seems a normal practice. As this is summer and the height of hay cutting season, it is expected to see at least two or three tractors a trip. 

Once arriving, naturally we found another pub, this one called Granny Annie’s in the walled city of Londonderry. Another cider and gin and tonic were quickly ordered. We had earned a drink and a rest. Daryl sampled the local cod with traditional mushy peas and was pleased with the result. The pub, like all that we have visited to date, is quirky and unique, this one has a particular upside down theme to it with walls of clocks - really how could we not stop here!!

Hydrated and fed we took a stroll to the Derry Wall. Derry or Londonderry to some, has a long violent history most well known for the Siege of Derry in 1689 which held for 105 days of battle. More recently the Battle of Bogside known as Bloody Sunday marked the start of the Troubles in 1972. It is written that 14 innocents were killed during a volatile protest in the city. Daryl and I walked the Derry Walls after dinner. These walls are iconic and the 17th century enclosure has 

seven gates and 24 restored cannons. The view from the walls is spectacular and you can see the vast city which lays below for miles. The cemetery is a stand out for its size alone. From the walls you can also see the famous Derry murals depicting the Troubles. They are confronting and remind us that the Troubles are not necessarily over. For us, coming from a foundation of peace and freedom, it is hard to fathom the terror and fear represented in the murals and the stories that line the Derry walls on plaques. Leaving Derry we returned to the castle about quarter to eleven to find the twilight just setting in over the sea. 

Northern Ireland is a land of contrasts, stark natural beauty with stories of violence everywhere. The people are passionate, friendly and there is a sense of loyalty and pride about them when you talk to them. The Ballygally castle while grand and carefully restored is also steeped in violence and reported to be one of the worlds most haunted castles. While we have not 

experienced any encounters with the afterlife, the stories are long about those who have or have tried to meet the elusive ghost. One tale reads of a castle owner whose wife bore him a daughter, desperate for a heir he was reputedly so angry he locked her in the tower of the castle to starve as punishment, her screams went unanswered and desperate to see her daughter one last time, threw herself out the tower windows, falling to her death. It is reported she haunts the room every night with guests and journalists alike fleeing the room once her presence is felt. Others have reported seeing her standing in the room watching over them! Again fact and folklore fill the ancient buildings of Northern Ireland and the tourist industry now flourishes on the back of them. A leisurely start to the day we enjoyed the castle for one last morning before heading off for Belfast to explore all it has to offer. 

Belfast greeted us with crazy roundabouts and confusing signs, as the driver, I was a little intimidated by the traffic going off in all directions, again without the use of blinkers! Regardless 

we made it to our destination of the Titanic museum. Set in The Titanic Quarter, it is well worth the visit. It took us over two hours to get through the displays, including a four dimensional multi level interactive ride through the ships hull during construction. The displays extend over nine galleries and paint a picture of Belfast through the booming years until the fatal collision of the famous Titanic. A sad story, again highlighting the class divide between the rich and poor and the discrimination common in that era. 

Having only a short stay in Belfast we decided to jump on the On/Off Bus Tour enjoying  the sunshine from the open top and spent nearly two hours touring the city sights. Our tour guide, Daniel, was a wealth of information and a comedic entertainer all in one package. We took in a range of places including parliament buildings, the river Lagan, Saint George’s Market, Victoria Square Mall, The Cathedral Quarter, Saint Anne’s Cathedral, Clifton Street Poor House, The Crumlin Road Gaol and Courthouse, the Belfast Peace Wall, the Shankill Road and political mural walls, the Falls Road political wall, Queen’s University, Belfast City Hall and the Crown Liquor Saloon. The most fascinating part was the peace gates separating the two sectors on Belfast - Catholics and Protestants occupy two defined sectors of town, separated by a single street. Each night at 7 pm the gates are closed ensuring neither sector can disturb the other. These peace gates are then reopened at 7 am. Somehow the word peace seems a contradictory term held together with a fine length of hope. 

Now sailing on the Stena line ferry towards Scotland, we bid Farewell to Northern Ireland and are thankful for the opportunity to experience an Irish adventure.

Until next time,

N

More to Ireland than Guinness!

Ireland welcomed us with calm seas, blue skies and the crash of a pigeon on our windscreen as we careened on the motorway at 75 miles per hour, on the afternoon of Thursday, June 20th docking into the port of Rosslare. Leaving Fishguard on the English coast we began our Irish exploration and today, as I sit overlooking the water on the northern coastline we have driven 1600 miles by car and 104 miles by sea. This equates to 2600 km driving and 166 km by ferry in nine days. 

Last night we arrived at Ballygally Castle, overlooking the Sea at the head of Ballygally Bay, it is dated back to the 17th century. Restored and operating as a grand hotel, it is reported to be one of the most haunted places in all of Ulster. We will make this our home for two nights. A welcome change from cheap bed and breakfasts we have started Northern Ireland in a little ghostly luxury. 

My view, as I sit in the drawing room, typing away as Daryl maps our next days, is surreal - grey skies merge into the horizon with the water mimicking the same overhead hues. The water is calm, the wind chill is biting and I could easily settle in for a while. Before we get excited about Northern Ireland let me take you back to Ireland ( independent of the UK) and share some of our journey to date.

Initially, we booked into a small B&B named Crossroads on the back roads of New Ross. Greeted by our host Liz, this home was ours for two nights and we shared it with a French couple, Philippe and Christine.  Charming folk iconically French, they are travelling the country on a luxury BMW motorbike.  Philippe traverses countries far and wide, researching his new book, a travel guide for bikers. He writes a book every two years and spends the intervening time researching, he will be in Australia next year, we hope he will make contact and we will see them again in our patch of dirt. I am a little jealous. 

From New Ross we ventured to the Hook lighthouse - the oldest intact operational lighthouse in the world. Set atop the cliffs on the Hook Peninsula this massive black and white striped tower,  marks the entrance to the Waterford Estuary. The history of this lighthouse is rich and full of hardship and perseverance. The first beacon ( fire) was lit by Saint Dubhan, a monk in the 5th century after realising the treacherous cliff face would cause many tragedies, if the sea travellers could not be warned of imminent danger and it has remained lit forever more. The lighthouse itself was built in the 13th century, providing shelter and a home for the monks who continued to ensure the sea vessels did not meet the rocky shores on their travels. Technology has sophisticated the practices from the raw days of collecting wood to burn, and the lighthouse, with its 115 steps, is worth the climb to enjoy the views from 46 meters above sea level. 

This was our first taste of the wild coastline of Ireland. Having our fill of sea air, we journeyed inland to Waterford and were left stunned by the beauty and skill housed in this factory. Taking in the tour of the Waterford Crystal factory we went behind the scenes and watched, in awe, as the craftsmen created these pieces of pure pleasure. Staged in four main areas the craftsmen can only qualify in one skill -  glass blowers, glass cutters, glass finishers or glass engravers. This takes a five year apprenticeship followed by a further three years to become a master craftsman. Watching them work is hypnotic, the temperature is hot in the glass making house and the defined muscle on their forearms indicate a life’s work of patience and perfection. Some of the photos in our album “UK adventures plus Northern Island” shows the works on display at Waterford. If you ever choose to purchase Waterford crystal make sure it bears the hallmark otherwise it is a replica! Feeling richer for the experience we set off to Kilkenny.

Steeped in history this city has much to offer tourists. We toured through Kilkenny castle, and the divide between the rich and poor is highlighted in every room with opulence and excess in high quantities. Without a doubt it was a male dominated world filled with violence, greed and the quest for power. Settling for something quirky we got aboard for the Kilkenny road train tour - this was a blast. Trundling through narrow streets and getting a recorded story of the highlights we enjoyed history though a different perspective. Feeling and looking very much like the quintessential tourist we sat goggled eyed, pointing and laughing at the sights before us. The medieval museum finished off our historical tour of Kilkenny and we decided we had well and truely earned a drink. Daryl was determined to try the local beverage of choice - Guinness and felt it important to share the experience with me. At a fantastic little pub we sampled the black tar and I found it expectantly disgusting. Daryl drank it out of stubbornness rather than enjoyment. Later on, finding another well rated Irish pub we lucked a table and watch, with some fascination, the sights before us. A local band was playing traditional Irish songs, our food was hot and filling and the drinks were generous. We shared a table with a rather strange lady, who I suspect was a little simple, I watched her searching the room, and spotted us, clearly an easy mark. She asked to sit and really how can you say no. I  suggest she is a regular visitor to the establishment following the apology from the publican as we left. Young men sporting shaved undercuts, is very much the fashion and women of all shapes and ages are sporting leisure wear on every street. 

Leaving New Ross we started toward the Ring of Kerry.  Checking out the city of Cork we supported the local economy and found another eatery, enjoyed the buskers and the English market where food is on display uncovered all the time! 

The Ring of Kerry is a spectacular display of Irish coastline, dotted with villages and communities along the way. With plenty of scenery to take in and places to visit the choice is extreme. We stopped in a number of small places and found the people charming, polite, friendly and always curious. Our destination for this day was a seaside B&B at Kells. Right on the water it sounded fabulous, just what we needed. We arrived, late and the view was indeed gorgeous, the smell of the ocean filled our senses as soon as we exited the car. And that is where the good stopped! Our room was so small and it sloped, and creaked and the bed was just awful. Lumpy, bumpy and on a lean it was not quite the adventure we were after. Wifi only worked if you were in the communal lounge room and the bathroom was the size of our toilet at home, in fact the water pressure in our toilet is stronger than the shower. We couldn’t get out of there fast enough. 

Heading off weary and early the next morning we set our navigator to the sights of Limerick via Dingle Peninsula. Now this is a sight to see. Spectacular scenery, windy roads, hairpin bends and mad drivers add to the adventure along with rain and temperatures dipping into single figures. But the views, oh my lord, they are extraordinary. We have filled the album with photos and some video footage, do check them out, they don’t do it justice but it’s the best we could manage. The tiny town of Dingle was home to the filming of the Star Wars episode 8. Daryl climbed a mountain in the rain, driven by wild winds, searching for the plaque commemorating the event, only to find it was along the flat road,down the way. Obviously exhilarated by the climb he was drenched on the outside and fortunate to have packed his hiking jacket. Along this way Daryl sampled the local black and white pudding and then we found the famous Beehive huts dating back to 2000 BC and then the Dunbeg fort dating back to 500 BC. The relics that remain provide a rustic visual concept of life in a time so long ago. Hard and raw, a lifestyle like this is unfathomable for our minds now. The Irish famine huts from the infamous Irish famine are also retained by the historic societies and are again a representation of a harshness that gripped the country to a degree we cannot imagine. Leaving the Dingle Peninsula we spoke of returning one day to explore this region more. We returned to Limerick and found the city dirty and darker than anticipated. The selected hotel was a large one and provided a decent bed and blockout curtains, what a relief. The long days with the sun not setting until well after 10 pm have made our sleep patterns somewhat erratic and our bodies a little weary from constant rubber necking and driving on foreign roads. 

The roads are two extremes, either wide and smooth or narrow with barely enough room for two cars to pass, the hedges crowd you in,  heaven help us every time we see a bus coming our way! Blinkers are an optional extra for Irish drivers, and eventually you get used to the road signs telling you to “ yeild” or give way, “Go Mall” to Go slow or “ amach” exit! All signs are in Irish Gaelic with English translation underneath. The combination of letters is truly unique. The voice on our GPS shifts from Gaelic to English at various intervals, also switching from miles to kilometres - confusing much! 

Leaving limerick was not a sad moment but before we did so, we had to pay a visit to the Hunt Museum! Who knew Daryl’s family were so significant in Irish history! 

Next stop was the Cliffs of Moher where we booked onto a boat for a cruise. Set in the Atlantic Ocean, again, scenery to blow your mind and fill your soul with ocean air. The bird life around the area is prolific with the Puffin bird the most famous. More than 30,000 birds call these cliffs home. Impertinent tourists, loud Americans, and competing ferry operators kept us entertained when we wanted a break from the magnificent view, which off course was never. At their highest peak the cliffs stand 214 meters above sea level, it is also the site of the Harry Potter sea cave for those Harry Potter enthusiasts who may be reading this post. So much to see - again get yourselves over here if ever you can. 

Although we are used to driving long distances at home, sometimes I think we have been a little enthusiastic in our estimations and scheduling. Leaving the Cliffs of Moher well into the afternoon, we now had a five hour trek to our night’s accommodation. Choosing to stop in Galway this would be our last stop in Ireland. This iconic city, which I associate with the lovely movie P.S. I Love You, was a small treat. A very late lunch in yet another pub, we chose a setting in the colourful Latin region of the Galway city. Buskers line the streets and the sounds of Galway are heard vibrating off every wall. 

The motorways in Ireland are set to 120 kph, what a wonderful trip this is, doing at least 130 - 150 kms, most cars ignore the speed restrictions and the smooth, wide lanes make travelling easy. It is only the toll booths that slow you down. Thankfully they accept card, as we made sure we had used all our cash Euros before leaving. I am pleased to report the help button on the booth of the tollway worked very well! 

We crossed the border about 10 pm last night and returned to the country of ponds, pence and miles per hour. Northern Ireland is now our home for a couple of days and we spent a glorious night in the Ballygally Castle. A relaxed morning today, I have sat here for a couple of hours, typing away, surrounding by a history so rich it gives one indigestion, a view of the bay not a few feet away and the sounds of Ireland quietly playing in the background. Daryl has spent the morning planning our next few days and booking our ferry to Scotland. It’s time to get our tourist pants back on and seems we are heading for the Giant Causeway and whatever wonders it presents.

U til next time,

N

From final farewells to the ancient buildings of Oxford

The locals tell us that it has rained constantly for two weeks in Wales, not just drizzle but rain that persists in torrents. Good soaking rain hence the resulting bumper crops that are swaying in the British breeze. Hence when the sun shone brightly on Tuesday afternoon it was thought to be a gift from down under, the Aussie tourists were a good omen, or maybe it was dad smiling and singing a familiar Welsh tune - he was finally home. A small gathering of about 30 people made their way to the tiny cemetery at Llansantffraid, Wales to bid a final farewell to Haydn, as they all knew him. Sisters, brother-in-laws, aunts, uncles, cousins and acquaintances took part in a brief but moving tribute organised by the Jones clan. Closure had come to those who grieved and the Welsh earth covered dad’s ashes like a comforting quilt. Following the tradition of old, a few drinks were shared at the Station Grill just up the road, giving family an opportunity to reunite with the Australians. Conversation was animated with trips down memory lane. The drinks in Wales don’t come small and I’m not sure how anyone drives under the limit if they have a few! As the sun was hidden behind the blackening skies, rain again teamed down and set in for the night.

Wednesday marked the beginning of our solo adventure, setting off in a our little hire car to travel the UK. With heavy rain overnight the roads were soaked but the sun was shining as we made our leave
from Charles and Karen’s home. Getting out the driveway was our first success and after that we
faced, mud filled laneways ( you can’t call them roads they are so narrow!), blocked roads and a navigation device that took us on the scenic routes, down a number of rabbit holes and back roads. The adventure had indeed begun. Daryl took it all in his stride and we successfully made it to our our first stop of Much Wenlock. A tiny town with narrow streets and quaint stores. We helped the economy by enjoying a cup of tea, although Daryl was most disappointed to find they served tea in a bag rather than a pot. The Lemon drizzle cake, Daryl’s new found love, was sweet beyond imagination. We should have gone to Catherine’s bakery instead! The antique shop we checked out was typically disorganised and cluttered, with barely enough room to squeeze through the aisles. Cheap in comparison to shops back home, we refrained from any purchases.

Moving on, we travelled to the Cotswolds, WOW just WOW, what an amazing part of the world.
Stunningly beautiful, it just takes your breath away. We stopped at a little town called Stow on the
Wold and explored the many shops and sights to see. Feeling peckish we chose to eat in a small baker tea rooms at the end of an alley way. Stooping to get under the doorway, we were immediately greeted by the aroma of home cooking and the friendliest Englishmen to be found. Tiny, compact with only about seven tables, they remained full with people and their dogs waiting at the door for a spot. Once we sampled the food, we understood why. Hot chocolate like we have never experienced followed by meals that were not only generous but wholesome and full of flavour. I watched with curiosity as a well trained Whippet curled up under his owners feet and slept soundly while she perused the wholesome menu. Run by a husband and wife team, the story behind the bakery is a tragic one, many of us would have crumpled under the great weight of sadness, but these people, chose a path of healing through faith after the suicide of their 16 year old son. Writing books to help others survive such enormous loss and grief, they travel the country speaking to others experiencing the same devastation, when they are home they are nourishing peoples souls and bellies with warmth and deliciousness.
After waddling out of our cafe, soaking in the incredible architecture, we sadly left the Cotswolds and
headed towards the bustling city of Oxford. Academics and visitors around the world would revel in such a place, steeped in tradition and culture. After going down a one way street, swiftly turning around, ignoring the glares of other travellers, we found a car park and made our way to the Oxford University Museum of Natural History. Stunning, it just blows your mind. We wandered Oxfords oldest library Bodleian and while we were too late for the tour, visited the shop, supporting the local economy once again and enjoyed the ambience of a place built so long ago.
Feeling more than a little weary, we rested our soles at the White Horse pub, famous for being affiliated with the Inspector Morse series and later Lewis detective shows, and waited for Daisy to find us. Pimms, along with gin and tonic, have become my new found delights, while Daryl seems to be cider sampling his way through Britain. Daisy and I work together, so it only made sense to travel some 17000 kilometres to have a drink together too. Having pre-booked accommodation months ago at home, also over a few drinks, we found ourselves driving further and further into the backwaters finally finding the Bat and Ball Inn, a tiny English pub set in Cuddesdon, a ‘suburb’ of Oxford. No
public transport out here!
Sharing an attic style room, the three of us, spent a very enjoyable evening sampling hearty English food and drinks until we dropped.
Thursday, the sun shone brightly as we made an early start, Daryl and I had a date with Ireland and we needed to get Daisy to a train so she could get back to London. Adventure number 47 was set to begin. Selecting a random city for breakfast we set toward Swindon, and quickly worked out this was a bad move... our first introduction was the magic roundabout, the only magic component about this was actually getting through it without crashing. Oh my goodness, what an engineering disaster this design is. Research told us this is the fourth most dangerous roundabout in the world - heaven help those who tackle the first three!
After doing numerous laps of Swindon observing some rather dark and dreary neighbourhoods, and realising there is no cafe culture in Swindon, we made the executive decision to leave and headed towards Bristol. By this time we had been moving for two hours without coffee or breakfast! Both
issues were resolved with a stop at one of the Services (similar to our roadside service stations but including a mini city inside) an absolutely marvellous concept. We easily found the Bristol train station and bid Daisy farewell. It was time to make a swift two hour trip to Fishguard.

Ireland and all it has to offer is awaiting us.

Until next time
N

Early days in the journey

On Sunday June 16 we arrived at my cousin, Karen and her husband Charles’ home Hollymead, in Ellesmere after a 22 hour flight. We left home at 630 on Saturday morning, Australian time, lost a day along the way and landed in Manchester at 630 am Sunday morning, English time. Back home, many people talked about the little, narrow roads in England but it is hard to fathom until you actually drive on them! We travelled on the motorway for a while and discovered most cars ignore the speed limit of 70 miles per hour. We felt like we were standing still as car after car zoomed passed us.

 

We crossed into Wales and then back into England as we headed towards our destination. Travelling through the smaller towns saw us lost on numerous occasions, with frantic messages 
going back and forth to Karen who was providing us instructions. Eventually we found our way. The roads twist and turn, the hedges hug

 the road and there is no curb side to speak of. Dog walkers take their pooches for a stroll under threat of collision at all times. The windy roads make it impossible to see what is 

around the bend, yet locals travel without caution. The road signs are low to the ground so Australians used to seeing them on street signposts high into the air need to again 

change their process and thinking.

Karen and Charles’ home is quintessentially English. Green foliage as far as the eye can see, birds, mainly Gold Finches flit in and out of squirrel proof feeders and happily chirp 

away. Squirrels scamper up and down the trees and pheasants walk freely through the
 towns and home gardens. The  summer temperature is a cool 13-16 degrees, the wind chill is crisp.
 They have had so much rain, we cannot imagine what it is like anymore from a drought perspective. 

A brief stroll through Ellesmere gave us the opportunity to see the narrow boats in action, enjoy watching a large 
gaggle of geese and white swans swim in the lake 
surrounded by a large public park before having afternoon tea overlooking the lake. Once you reconcile with the fact that dogs could be inside the restaurant with their owners, 
we enjoyed cake and English coffee and tea. Jet lag hit us both by evening and we gave into it by 730 pm Sunday 
night. 

Twelve hours later we felt revived and ready to venture out into the region. Our hosts are especially welcoming and make it easy to settle into their home. Continuing our journey on Monday morning, we arrived in Oswestry and ambled through the town, finding a phone shop ( local SIM card a necessity), antiques bazaar and independent book store (supported the local economy).

After our brief introduction to English shopping, we headed towards Karen’s parents home. My dad’s brother David and his wife Ellen. David is very poorly and now bedridden, the resemblance to dad is strong. Aunty Ellen is his full time career and dedicated to his welfare during such a difficult time. They visited Australia in 1976, Karen has memories of camping in Australia. I’m afraid  I was too little to recall any of this trip. Aunty Ellen remembers me as a little girl with long blonde, wavy hair. They last saw Mum and Dad in 1991 when they made a brief visit back to Wales to see the family. After bidding them goodbye, Charles took us for a drive to Dad’s old home. It is now a cleared paddock overlooking the Calvinist chapel they had to attend every Sunday, a three mile walk! The area is remote but ruggedly beautiful. 

Lunch was held in Shrewsbury, late in the afternoon, in a quirky cafe with delicious food and a marvellous assortment of teas. We continued to stroll through the local public park and stood in awe of the beautifully manicured gardens. 

Seats with small plaques line the garden, the plaques have tributes written on them for those who have passed. A thoughtful and public gesture acknowledging loved ones, 

while providing seating for those who enjoy the park each day. 

A well earned rest was had at The Armoury, a pub overlooking the River Severn.  Sampling the local choices we again supported the local economy. 

Our day ended, similar to many evenings back at Rivergum, with platters of delectable bites from cheeses, to chutneys and olives with a kick. Washed down with some Australian red wine that we brought over, the evening was mellow and filled with chatter. The sun does not set until just after 10pm by which time my eyes were heavy. 

Today will be a day of mixed emotions as we return dad to his homeland of Wales. 

Until then,

N

17,125 kilometres, 22 hours flying time, eight weeks away from home

 We are exactly one hour into our grand adventure, flying Cathay Pacific, seated near the emergency exit doors and watching time tick ever so slowly. Daryl, despite having had only a brief nap once we boarded is now immersed in a movie fest, drinking cold beer and ignoring the fact that we have a further 23 hours of flying time to go before reaching our final destination of Manchester, England. The lovely hostess brought an array of beverages so I have chosen to sample the local red wine selection, it is chilled, I am confused by this concept and while it tastes quite pleasant, I need it to warm. Fortunately, we have another eight hours on this leg of the journey after which we will land in Hong Kong. I suspect my liquid berries will reduce nicely to room temperature and if I shut my eyes while sipping, I can pretend I am drinking from a fine wine glass, instead of a plastic cup! Oh, the sufferings of the privileged. Daryl’s movie must be good, he is chuckling beside me. 

Our plane is full and so far, the infants, toddlers, teenagers and most adults are behaving very nicely. We hope, off course, for a smooth flight. I suspect Daryl will not sleep much, he is nervous and not relaxed about being confined for what is effectively 24 hours. I may need to slip some sleeping tablets into his beer. While saying goodbye to our loved ones at home was hard, I am quietly getting more excited about the prospect of eight weeks of leisure and pleasure, at least for the most part. 

Dad has joined us on this journey and will travel with us to Wales. Reduced to the size of a small box, his ashes are carefully sealed and housed in my carry on luggage. He would be pleased, this trip hasn’t cost him a cent. Soon after mum died in 2016, Daryl and I begged him to travel back to his homeland of Wales and see his family. It would have been more than 25 years since his last visit. Just when we thought we had convinced him, even offering to go with him, he stubbornly refused, citing farming obligations, costs, weather and a myriad of excuses to not travel. He assured us once he got the farm in order, he would visit. He seemed hopeful, even happy about the prospect of travelling to see them, his brothers and sister, nieces and nephews he had never met, but shortly after this time, he suffered a stroke and his travel plans were put to rest forever. I have no doubt it was a great regret for him. In his delirium and confusion he often spoke fondly of his youth and his family, so now it is time to take him home. So a part of him remains in Sale next to his wife and the other part will be interned with his parents on Tuesday. While he will return to his birthplace, we will meet his side of the family for the first time. I suspect it will be a day of mixed emotions

Our first destination , Hong Kong, is a success. After muddling our way through security, we have located the Plaza Lounge and are currently enjoying free spirits and copious amounts of Asian delicacies. A shower and then back on the plane for the final leg of our journey! Poor Daryl,  he looks so tired. Surely he will sleep next flight! 

As many of you know leaving the country for a lengthy period of time takes a lot of organising and planning. I am still a little stunned we have made it. In preparation for our departure we have finalised plans for the kitchen renovation; these will start upon our return, had more paddock fences completed and new red gum posts driven into the ground along the driveway ready for wiring; they look amazing. A few tonnes  of firewood has been brought up from the morass and we finally burnt the ever growing bonfire pile. Daryl’s new toy, the bull blade, made short work of the tea trees and the fire burnt for a few days. The dreaded 

drought brought much heartache and robust discussions around what 

to do with our stock. In the end we kept our breeders, hopefully now in calf, and bought grain, lucerne and hired a retired farmer to look after them. We hope this investment is the right decision. With the hens rehoused this only leaves the alpacas, dogs and cats, all of whom Bek will look after, while she juggles year 12 studies, her part time job, youth mayor commitments and plans her own adventures overseas in 2020. 

We have been blessed by offers of help from many friends and family and we are grateful to everyone who is helping out while we are living the tourist dream. 

Until next time 

N.