Our journey to London began on Sunday morning and we were greeted with steady rain and grey clouds covering the English skies. We spent the previous night at Charles and Karen’s home after attending the funeral of her father and my Uncle David. It was a thoughtful and heartfelt tribute to a big hearted man who lived a full life and passed away peacefully aged 93. A large gathering turned out to bid him farewell and again we found ourselves meeting new relatives and friends who knew my father, many years before. It was a wonderful opportunity to be part of such a poignant event.
Saturday night also gave us the chance to spend time with Charles and Karen’s two children, Jake and Katie, now very much adults, and it was a delight to get to know them over a delicious meal of take away Indian delicacies and red wine. This was our first sample of take away food in the UK and apart from the questionable ‘salad bags’ we enjoyed it.
Sunday also marked Karen’s birthday and we were sadly lacking in the gift department. The best we could offer was a big hug and our company, slack really. Always a relaxed affair we enjoyed breakfast with the family before gathering our bags and leaving with another cousin Jenny and her husband Pete who had kindly offered to take us to Crewe station to catch the connecting train to London. With the rain accompanying us all the way, we arrived with plenty of instructions and helpful advice to use once in the city. Naturally we had to send a photo to Carol and Zac back home of the Crewe railway sign.
The two and half hour train journey was smooth and comfortable. Somehow we had inadvertently managed to get first class tickets hence a crowded, but quiet and uninterrupted trip for us. Disembarking at London Euston we were met by a throng of hundreds of commuters going in the opposite direction. Wall to wall of faces, cases and the longest line to use the ladies I have ever seen. Didn’t help that a group of made up Yankie dolls were putting their hair in curlers in the bathroom. Between them they must have bought out the makeup up section of their local department store, seriously a lot of effort going on in that group. Despite warnings from all around, we navigated our way through another two train interchanges and managed to find our hotel. Pleased with the Greenwich location and room with a view, we found the bar and proceeded to plan the next 24 hours. With daylight still with us, we decided to venture out and found the clipper (fast) ferry to London Tower Bridge. Momentarily, confusing this beautiful landmark for London Bridge we were then disappointed by the main London Bridge in comparison. The Tower Bridge, is a treat to the eye and we enjoyed a slow walk over it and back. Turns out there is a tour, so we will look at fitting that into our schedule too. Tower bridge is located right next to Tower of London and we are looking forward to our tour on Thursday.
Right now, on a balmy Sunday evening, we are again sitting in the bar of our Hilton hotel, rather swish for our usual standards, and despite aching feet and disgruntled hips, the Long Island ice tea and Makers Mark are going down a smoothly as warm custard. We, no doubt, look like weary travellers, and can’t compete with the US party going on the corner of the room.
Monday dawned with bright skies and increased temperatures as promised by the weather bureau. Our day’s plan was quite sketchy apart from a definite visit to the Royal Observatory Greenwich. After a breakfast, discounted thanks to a gifted voucher from Rouge Cafe, we set out towards the Observatory, which from the Royal Park stands high on the hill. From here, the standard was set and walking was going to be a big part of our day. Having finally reached the top of the steep accent we were greeted by hundreds of tourists, milling about waiting for the gates to open. What a sight! Pushing and shoving was in ample supply and a few tempers flared along the way. The Observatory was originally built in 1675 and the first astronomer Royal John Flamsteed laid the foundation stone. He moved in a year later with two servants and began his endeavours to understand time, navigation and the stars. It was not until 1884 that the Prime Meridian was defined by Transit Circle telescope at the Royal Observatory which was built by Sir George Biddell Airy, the 7th Astronomer Royal in 1850. The cross-hairs pin the eye piece of the telescope precisely defined Longitude 0 degrees for the world. The Observatory provides a spectacular history and displays many of the pieces of equipment methodically created over years in order to study navigation, timekeeping, and determination of star positions.
For tourists such as us, the technical aspects of the tools and discoveries made during the last few hundred years go beyond our understanding, but it does not stop us from appreciating the dedication, craftsmanship and long serving patience the many men and a few women had, in order to achieve these essential discoveries.
If not for the throng of tourists we would have enjoyed this experience more, but the warm conditions and the jostling and poor manners became frustrating after a while. At one point a self obsessed tourist received a stern serving from Daryl and a young man copped the sharper end of my tongue a bit later as he tried to push through a space that did not exist.
Leaving the Observatory we enjoyed a stroll through the tree lined park, stopping off at the Queens House on our way to the Greenwich Pier to make our way to Westminster.
Well, if we thought the crowds were thick at the Observatory, we were in for a rude shock once we disembarked from our river taxi. Thousands of people filled the stairs to exit and enter the Westminster area. Street sellers were shouting their wares, always on sale, and it was hard to keep sight of Daryl at times. Moving through we were disappointed to see Big Ben covered in scaffolding, as is much of Westminster Abby. Regardless they are most spectacular pieces of architecture. Feeling hungry we continued walking, through the masses, passed the array of monuments until it got a bit quieter and we found a quaint little pub in a side street. Miraculously it was air conditioned and we were given the last available table, located in the tiny corner of the pub, known as the confessional! Getting our bearings, along with some food and drink, we were then ready for our next phase.
And then we walked and walked and walked some more. To Trafalgar Square, Leicester Square (where we bought tickets to a show tomorrow night), The Twinings Tea House and museum (turns out white tea is a thing and I enjoyed its delicate flavour), watched the London Eye go around, very slowly, and a street performer woo the crowd with humour and style. The LEGO plaza and M&M shop made us curious but not inspired to pay the entry fee.
After the worst coffee/tea ( which I returned due to curdled milk) in a loud cafe, next to the tea shop we walked some more, finally finding the Blackfriars Pier, where we waited and waited a waited some more. Seems the river taxi missed our stop so instead of catching the 5.20 we waited for the 5.50 service. With a bladder ready to burst I boarded and headed straight for the ladies, which off course were closed, as was the disabled and men’s - turns out they ran out of water! We were headed for Greenwich North to ride the Emirates cable car, so figured I would cope until then - its was only 30 minutes away. Walking as quickly as my chunky little legs would carry me, we arrived at the cable car and anxiously asked about their bathrooms, to be informed they didn't have any! Are you serious? Did they not realise I have born six children and my bladder can only last so long.....aarrggghhhh. The staffer advised me that I could have gone to the cafe, but they were closed and then most helpfully continued by informing me that the museum would also have toilets but guess what? they were also closed. Not helpful my friend, not at all.
Squeezing a little tighter we boarded the cabin and I tried to distract myself with the view. Seems Daryl is less than thrilled with cable car rides and found the experience less than exhilarating - I had no idea.. ooops this ride definitely had a few challenges, luckily it was not too long but it was quite high, flying around 90 metres above the ground. The ride did give us a birds eye view of the city and it was quite spectacular with the afternoon sun glistening on the buildings below. With views to the Royal Observatory, Old Royal Naval College, Greenwich Foot Tunnel, the London Eye, The Shard, Canary Wharf, The Gherkin, Wembley stadium, The O2, Olympic stadium, ArcelorMittal Orbit, The River Lea, The Crystal, SS Robin, ExCel London, Royal docks, London City Airport, Lyle’s Golden Syrup Factory, Queen Elizabeth II Bridge and the Thames barrier we were able to enjoy this interesting city from a different perspective. Of note, painted on a shed roof was a marriage proposal to Lauren from 79 year old Ralph, I do wonder if she said yes, I hope so. How Romantic.
Alighting from our sky high ride, we made a dash for the river taxi that was rocketing towards the pier. The river taxis travel at 40 mile an hour so we need to get moving, never an easy task for me. Daryl ran ahead and they begrudgingly held the boat for an extra minute while I hobbled up. By now my need for the toilet was increasing, so again headed straight for the facilities, which again were out of use. Slightly fuming I was very glad it was only a short ride to a Greenwich. Finding the nearest restaurant, we bought drinks so I could pee!
The restaurant named Zizzi turned out to be drinks, entree and dinner with a magnificent view. We watched the sun setting over the river Thames and enjoyed a drop in the temperature. Planning for tomorrow is now in full swing, but I suspect after a few more drinks we will start again over breakfast tomorrow.
Until next time,
N
Tuesday, 30 July 2019
Saturday, 27 July 2019
If Wicked William could talk...
Cloud cover and cooler conditions are most welcome today, our sixth day onboard the Wicked William, after enduring England’s hottest day on record yesterday. With temperatures peaking at 40 degrees Celsius (in the shade) we struggled on the open waters of the canals, with little shelter from the trees, high humidity, and a mix of flies and mosquitoes, that both bite. The lead up to yesterday’s hot conditions was preceded by two days of increasing humidity and temperatures and anyone who knows me, knows I am not a fan of either. Even the couple of pubs we stopped at over the past few days provided little reprieve as they do not have air conditioning here. Finding a shop, accommodation or cafe with air-con is rare. I suspect, if this increase in hot weather continues, air cooling could be a boom industry in the UK in the very near future. Our little boat certainly did not provide any cool relief, so some nights have been challenging. Regardless, we have managed through, a little burnt for our efforts, a little fatigued but still rather painless. The efforts to shade our shelves with an umbrella while trying to manoeuvre the boat were clearly worth it.
Wicked William, is a four berth, narrow boat, designed like a caravan inside but with sleek lines and a rudder on the outside. Manufactured by British marines, Wicked William has a 35 horse power motor and chugs along at a cruising speed of four miles per hour (the canal current is about three miles per hour, so do the maths!) The canal that we chose to travel on this week is the Llangollen canal, meandering through the picturesque regions of parts of England and Wales. Britain boasts hundreds of canal routes and the choice is plentiful from short day trips to permanent homes cruising the waterways. Some 3,300 Brit’s live on their boats permanently, as it is a much cheaper option than owning there home or rent. One couple, in particular, have owned their boat for thirty five years, that is their second boat, they have been on the canal for fifty years and still loving it.
The appeal for us, as novice sailors, was minimal locks, scenic waterways and the historic Pontcysyllte Aqueduct.
Our induction to canal boating on Saturday, took over an hour and after Allan, Whittington Wharf boat operator, was satisfied we understood the fundamentals of boating safety, operation and layout, he took us for a short cruise down the canal. With the propensity to chat, Allan, a kind and jovial man, provided lots of instruction and encouragement. He clearly knows a thing or two about boats and farming, so we found out as we cruised along. Eventually, Allan disembarked and left us to our own devices. Feeling quite nervous, we were going just fine, until about an hour into the journey when we struck a bit of bother. Coming through the first lock was smooth as butter and we were so proud of our efforts. An effective system had been set in place - Daryl would operate the locks and I would drive the boat through. I quickly got the hang of the process and managed to steer the boat smoothly into the lock (usually) hold him from hitting either lock door, and then steer him out easily. However, the second lock, located not ten minutes later, rocked our confidence within seconds. The outgoing current was strong and we quickly drifted into the wash, unbeknownst to us collecting a large banner along the way. In my efforts to get the boat back into the middle of the canal, the banner wrapped itself around the propeller and shut the engine down. With some effort, sweat and few choice phrases we got the boat to the edge and securely moored up.
With minimal equipment to try and remove it, Daryl tried valiantly with the blunt kitchen knives and scissors to get the banner loose. What we didn’t know was the banner had stretch cables attached to its ends and these were well and truly tangled. We also didn’t know the banner was about four metres long and one meter wide, left behind by by the canal Trust since 2014. The Canal Trust is meant to be the organisation looking after the waterways, they should be the last people to be littering. With bloodied knuckles, greasy knees and sweat pouring, Daryl finally relented and help was called. Within half an hour the mechanic was onsite and after inspecting the problem, quickly changed into overalls and got some appropriate tools including a hacksaw! The culprit was soon unravelled, in pieces, and our young mechanic also returned from under the propeller hatch, with bloodied knuckles and greasy knees. We were now good to go and the engine fired up without issue. Not the start we wanted, and it was good to get back on the waterway.
Our first day we travelled just near the town of Chirk and moored up right near the pathway to the Bridge Inn, a small county pub, with delicious food and a pool table. I enjoyed the food more than the games of pool, as I lost each one. It also took some adjustment to get used to the greeting of ‘are you ok then’ when you entered a bar or cafe. It translates to ‘hello, how are you, what can I do for you?!’
That night we slept like the dead, I suspect the gentle rocking of the canal, no neighbours or traffic and the stress of our first trip added to our fatigue. The second day dawned bright and cheery and we were delighted to receive a message from my cousin Jenny inviting us to meet her, and her husband Pete, for lunch given we were in the area, near where they live. This was a wonderful opportunity, previous to this we have only communicated by email or messenger. We chose to met them at the Chirk Marina, not too far from us.
Travelling over our first aqueduct, the Chirk Aqueduct, was completed in 1801 and spans 216 meters across the Ceiriog Valley on 10 arches, each 21 metres high and with a span of 12 metres. Running alongside the aqueduct is the Chirk Viaduct carrying the Chester to Shrewsbury rail-line. It stands nine metres above the aqueduct and was built between 1846-1848, but had to be rebuilt in 1858. Both structures are an engineering feat, which would be hard to match today. Pleased with our efforts we continued to our our next piece of engineering mastery, the Chirk Tunnel. Built in 1801 this brick lined tunnel is 420 metres long and is the longest of three tunnels on the Llangollen Canal. Taking us nine minutes to pass through, the tunnel is lighted only by the single light on the narrowboat. Pedestrians can walk the tunnel along a narrow concrete path with a small rail to stop them falling into the canal. A torch would be necessary for this walk it is very dark inside and delightfully cool.
Finally we made it to the Chirk Marina and we were greeted by a man who quickly informed us the marina had shutdown but we could moor if we wanted. Hundreds of other boats, in various states of working condition, looked as if they were permanently housed at the marina. Unaware the marina was located so far from town, we had little choice but to wait for our ride. Happy to rest up for a bit, I was rudely shocked by a loud crashing sound into our boat shortly after settling. Turns out another couple of novice sailors, more inept than us, forgot to moor their boat securely, allowing the back end to be taken by the current for a little trip ending when it slammed into our vessel. The man who initially greeted us ran from his office, yelling and I watched with amusement from inside our cabin. Daryl stood on the deck and made way for the helper to cross over our deck so he could move the invading vessel from our waters. The couple driving the boat, obviously French were all a fluster and French vocabulary was heard in rapid succession. Amused, we noted no damage to poor William and headed off to meet Jenny and Pete in the carpark.
Meeting people for the first time that you know, but don’t, is always a bit strange. Jenny is my late father’s niece but we have never met, only conversing the last couple of years through Facebook. Jenny and Pete arrived and it was like meeting old friends - easy company, full of grand stories and just so very welcoming. They even brought us a gift of wine and cider for our canal cruise. Just so thoughtful. We hope we didn’t disappoint them in return. Again, you never know what picture of yourselves you have painted through emails, Facebook, and the like; hopefully reality is accurately reflected ( we obviously have our drink preferences down pat!)
After initial greetings, the suggestion of journeying to Chirk Castle was presented to us and we nearly squealed with joy as it was definitely on our list to visit. Thus we spent a most delightful afternoon, enjoying lunch at the castle, an excellent tour and finished with coffee and cake, off course. Chirk Castle ( Castell y Waun) now maintained by the National Trust, was built in the late 13th century and served as a border fortress for 300 years. In 1595 Sir Thomas Myddleton bought the castle, with the intention of turning it into a grand family home.The family owned the castle for more than 400 years. In 1981 the National Trust took over ownership of the castle and the 480 acres of the estate. Again this castle offers visitors an opportunity to explore a time we cannot begin to comprehend. Grand, sound and offering majestic views, the Chirk Castle is a great way to spend a few hours. My favourite room was the library, hosting hundreds of books, the oldest dating back to 518 AD! Our afternoon ended with a quick tour of Wicked William, with Jenny and Pete, before bidding them goodbye. Cruising along for another couple of hours we moored up in a quiet area just before the famous Pontcysyllte Aqueduct ready for tomorrow’s crossing. After a dinner of toasted cheese sandwiches, a few games of cards, winnings favouring Daryl, we called it quits.
Pontcysyllte Aqueduct became a world heritage site in 2009. At 307 metres long, 3.6 metres wide, 1.6 metres deep it is the longest and highest aqueduct in Britain and carries the canal 38 metres above the River Dee. It consists of 18 piers and 19 arches, each with a span of 13.7 metres, built hollow at the top to reduce the weight. Taking ten years to build, it was opened in 1805. There is a towpath mounted above the trough and pedestrians can walk the length of the aqueduct, with a railing on the side for their protection. But there is no railing on the other side and boaters feel as if they are suspended in mid air. We crossed the aqueduct in strong winds, so had only a few brave walkers were along the towpath. The crossing is spectacular, it is also daunting and takes a lot of courage to look over the edge. The views are breathtaking but the constant knocking of the boat against the trough is a little disconcerting. Once across you are met with a very sharp left hand turn to continue on the canal. There is a shop situated on the bend, and many pedestrians enjoy their lunch while watching the challenges boats have navigating this route. The length of boat is definitely worth consideration when hiring. Daryl and I helped a couple and their two children who were trying desperately to turn the vessel, at one stage the woman nearly went into the murky waters - concentrating so hard pulling the tow rope she nearly forgot to let go.
Our destination was the little village of Llangollen and we arrived late in the afternoon, after an enjoyable cruising time on the waterways for several hours. Choosing to moor at the marina, we were surprised to find ourselves docked next to our Frenchy friends from the Chirk marina! Settling in, we went for a walk to explore the gorgeous town. Built around the Dee River (spectacular all on its on), the village also boasts a heritage railway line, which off course we booked tickets to travel on that afternoon. Disappointingly the steam train was out of service so we had to settle for the diesel engine. Lunch was enjoyed at a cafe on the banks of the River Dee. A couple of ladies, seated next to us, enquired about our accents and then proceeded to chat to us about the highlights of the area and some local historical gossip, in particular ‘Plas Newydd’ most notable as the home where two Irish ladies, Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Sarah Ponsonby (famously known as the Llangollen ladies) eloped and set up house together in the late 18th century, scandalising contemporary British Society. We strolled along the main street, lined with smaller shops offering their wares and Daryl bought an iconic Pork Pie to sample from the local butcher. We booked in for dinner at the Corn Mill, recommended by many on our journey, and it was fabulous. A warm evening, we were pleased to be able to enjoy our after dinner drinks on the balcony built over the river. The gushing of the water roaring over the rocks set a scenic backdrop to our night and provided a welcome cool breeze.
Earlier in the afternoon, with increasing temperatures, we boarded the train which would take us from Llangollen to Corwen station on the only standard gauge heritage railway in North Wales. The trip is ten miles in length through the Dee Valley, with five stations along the way, including the notable Horseshoe Falls. Daryl explored the Falls the next morning, while I enjoyed a sleep in. It is a three kilometre walk from the marina in most picturesque surroundings. Intending to get as far as Ellesmere by evening we set out on the canal to again cross the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct in much calmer conditions.
Having arranged to meet Karen and Charles for dinner we enjoyed another lovely meal in the Ellesmere centre, regaling them with our adventurous tales, before returning to our floating home. Overnight we witnessed a magnificent thunderstorm including lightning and thunder. Unfortunately, it did not help reduce the temperatures or the humidity.
After a restless night, we set about finding some wifi to book a few things for our impending London trip and managed to waste a couple of hours, achieve very little while drinking mediocre hot chocolate. Giving up, with considerable grumbling we set out for the canal once again. The day continued as it started, and we ended up travelling along miles of farmland, mosses and meres, bitten by bugs, hot and cranky. The meres are located either side of Llangollen canal and collectively create what is known as Shropshire’s ‘Lakes District’. It is thought the meres were created by large blocks of ice left behind at the end of the last Ice Age. As the glaciers retreated the blocks of ice became buried beneath rock debris and when the ice melted hollows were left. These gradually became filled with water. The Mosses or raised bog is a section of the canal, between Whitchurch and Ellesmere, that originally cut through a large peat area approximately 8 kms long and 2.5 kms wide is home to a large range of wildlife.
It was in this region, while trying to do the right thing and allow the oncoming traffic right of passage through a narrow bridge, that I managed to beach our boat! Poor William was stuck fast in the mud and tree root growth that has managed to sneak into the canal edges. We weren’t moving. Daryl was on the barge pole, tied the rope from the front, but we stuck fast. As we have found on the canal, help is never far away. Two chaps from the oncoming boat had jumped to our assistance, they both grabbed the rope, full throttle forward, Daryl again giving his all heaving the barge pole. To many cheers, William was again mobile! Much thanks and waves were passed between all involved, just all part of the journey on the canals.
Trying to escape the humidity and the little critters, we stopped at Whitchurch to again try to get some internet connection and continue our London planning. After a very long, hilly walk into town, we downed a few drinks ( it was even too hot for alcohol for me!) and managed to book a couple of events. Side note, train travel in England is disgraceful, the cost is horrendous, even when you book ahead. London better be worth the cost to get there! When the pub got too hot, we walked back and continued boating into the cool of the evening and finally moored at Grindley Brook. The canal passes through the village of Grindley Brook rising/falling 12.1 metres via a three lock staircase flight just outside the village and then three further locks in the village. The staircase flight, the only one on this canal, is overlooked by a grand lock keeper’s cottage from where there is always a lock keeper on hand to help boaters. We were fortunate to have the lock keeper help on both trips through the staircase. Having someone on both sides, when going through locks in such quick succession, certainly makes it easier for the lock operator. In between going through the locks (we calculated we did 20 locks yesterday) we stopped at Wrenbury for two reasons.
1. It’s the only place to turn the boat around which we needed.
2. It has a pub (Dusty Miller’s) right on the canal, close to our mooring point.
Again, no air conditioner and it was clear the waitress was struggling in the heat, but the meal was fabulous. The town has an electric drawbridge that is key operated and impacts all traffic entering and exiting the main part of the village. Tractors laden with silage made steady tracks through the drawbridge yesterday, while we ate our lunch, and it was a sight we would not see often at home. Some of the equipment barely fit across the bridge and you could hear it groaning under the weight of the loads it was trying to support. It took us four hours to travel up the canal and only three hours on the return trip. It is amazing what a difference it makes with the boating traffic and lock positions. We lucked out a bit on the way out. Of the three draw bridges we needed to operate, one was locked open and this saves a good five to ten minutes each time.
Docking along the same stretch as the night before we chose to have left-overs for dinner and crashed in our camp chairs on the canal bank under the shade. The storms that were forecast didn’t eventuate in our neck of the woods, and we only had a few showers, adding to the humidity.
Today, has been a good day, we are enjoying a very relaxed trip back to Ellesmere, including a leisurely home cooked breakfast on the canal bank, before setting off and a simple lunch on the boat. We will be meeting Jenny and Pete again for tea tonight.
Along this journey we have met some interesting characters, fisherman, families travelling for the first time, reunited friends enjoying a different type of holiday, couples who go out for three months at a time every year on their narrow boat, foreigners who think it’s a bit of a blast to do this type of boating and singles who enjoy their own company, sometimes with a dog or two, or occasionally a cat as they cruise around the UK. For us, it has been the most unique experience so far. Totally independent, we have set our own course and speed, dealt with a range of challenges, including a blocked kitchen sink (thanks to the previous incumbent pushing a straw into the pipe work), and managed to still like each other after living in very close quarters 24/7. We quickly learnt to shower in the evening, after the motor had run long enough to heat the water, and while we were there to wash our clothes so they could be hung, for all to see, the following day on the boat rails outside. We have been the inadvertent subject of many holiday snaps as people seem quite taken by the narrow boats. One young lad, asked to take a photo alongside the boat as his name was William also. Too cute!
Daryl’s parents undertook a similar journey some 25 years ago and I wonder if a seed was planted into Daryl’s subconscious way back then. Max has been a firm supporter of our plan to travel the canals and the trip itself. I take my hat off to Max and Enid for doing their UK adventure without a GPS. Not sure we would have been so successful. Max has called us a couple of times, despite the exorbitant cost of an overseas call, just to be sure we are ok, he really does make our day. Along the way we have managed to message home, call the kids a few times and even video chat some of the grandkids. Home is not far away now, in fact only two weeks.
I have been asked on a number of occasions if the canal trip is what I expected and honestly it is, and it isn’t. The narrow boats, provide an opportunity to slow down, this takes some getting used to. Limited internet access is challenging, indefinite periods of cruising along the countryside with no sounds other than the bird life or your partner, allows much time for reflection and pause. With all this time, I could have read a novel or two. I brought them, but the reality is, I didn’t want to. Nature is quietly magnetic, drawing you into her world, therapeutic and soul soothing. It is indeed unique.
Would I do it again? In a heart beat, in a different canal, with the same partner, any day of the week ( preferably not in summer though)
Until next time,
N
Wicked William, is a four berth, narrow boat, designed like a caravan inside but with sleek lines and a rudder on the outside. Manufactured by British marines, Wicked William has a 35 horse power motor and chugs along at a cruising speed of four miles per hour (the canal current is about three miles per hour, so do the maths!) The canal that we chose to travel on this week is the Llangollen canal, meandering through the picturesque regions of parts of England and Wales. Britain boasts hundreds of canal routes and the choice is plentiful from short day trips to permanent homes cruising the waterways. Some 3,300 Brit’s live on their boats permanently, as it is a much cheaper option than owning there home or rent. One couple, in particular, have owned their boat for thirty five years, that is their second boat, they have been on the canal for fifty years and still loving it.
The appeal for us, as novice sailors, was minimal locks, scenic waterways and the historic Pontcysyllte Aqueduct.
Our induction to canal boating on Saturday, took over an hour and after Allan, Whittington Wharf boat operator, was satisfied we understood the fundamentals of boating safety, operation and layout, he took us for a short cruise down the canal. With the propensity to chat, Allan, a kind and jovial man, provided lots of instruction and encouragement. He clearly knows a thing or two about boats and farming, so we found out as we cruised along. Eventually, Allan disembarked and left us to our own devices. Feeling quite nervous, we were going just fine, until about an hour into the journey when we struck a bit of bother. Coming through the first lock was smooth as butter and we were so proud of our efforts. An effective system had been set in place - Daryl would operate the locks and I would drive the boat through. I quickly got the hang of the process and managed to steer the boat smoothly into the lock (usually) hold him from hitting either lock door, and then steer him out easily. However, the second lock, located not ten minutes later, rocked our confidence within seconds. The outgoing current was strong and we quickly drifted into the wash, unbeknownst to us collecting a large banner along the way. In my efforts to get the boat back into the middle of the canal, the banner wrapped itself around the propeller and shut the engine down. With some effort, sweat and few choice phrases we got the boat to the edge and securely moored up.
With minimal equipment to try and remove it, Daryl tried valiantly with the blunt kitchen knives and scissors to get the banner loose. What we didn’t know was the banner had stretch cables attached to its ends and these were well and truly tangled. We also didn’t know the banner was about four metres long and one meter wide, left behind by by the canal Trust since 2014. The Canal Trust is meant to be the organisation looking after the waterways, they should be the last people to be littering. With bloodied knuckles, greasy knees and sweat pouring, Daryl finally relented and help was called. Within half an hour the mechanic was onsite and after inspecting the problem, quickly changed into overalls and got some appropriate tools including a hacksaw! The culprit was soon unravelled, in pieces, and our young mechanic also returned from under the propeller hatch, with bloodied knuckles and greasy knees. We were now good to go and the engine fired up without issue. Not the start we wanted, and it was good to get back on the waterway.
Our first day we travelled just near the town of Chirk and moored up right near the pathway to the Bridge Inn, a small county pub, with delicious food and a pool table. I enjoyed the food more than the games of pool, as I lost each one. It also took some adjustment to get used to the greeting of ‘are you ok then’ when you entered a bar or cafe. It translates to ‘hello, how are you, what can I do for you?!’
That night we slept like the dead, I suspect the gentle rocking of the canal, no neighbours or traffic and the stress of our first trip added to our fatigue. The second day dawned bright and cheery and we were delighted to receive a message from my cousin Jenny inviting us to meet her, and her husband Pete, for lunch given we were in the area, near where they live. This was a wonderful opportunity, previous to this we have only communicated by email or messenger. We chose to met them at the Chirk Marina, not too far from us.
Travelling over our first aqueduct, the Chirk Aqueduct, was completed in 1801 and spans 216 meters across the Ceiriog Valley on 10 arches, each 21 metres high and with a span of 12 metres. Running alongside the aqueduct is the Chirk Viaduct carrying the Chester to Shrewsbury rail-line. It stands nine metres above the aqueduct and was built between 1846-1848, but had to be rebuilt in 1858. Both structures are an engineering feat, which would be hard to match today. Pleased with our efforts we continued to our our next piece of engineering mastery, the Chirk Tunnel. Built in 1801 this brick lined tunnel is 420 metres long and is the longest of three tunnels on the Llangollen Canal. Taking us nine minutes to pass through, the tunnel is lighted only by the single light on the narrowboat. Pedestrians can walk the tunnel along a narrow concrete path with a small rail to stop them falling into the canal. A torch would be necessary for this walk it is very dark inside and delightfully cool.
Finally we made it to the Chirk Marina and we were greeted by a man who quickly informed us the marina had shutdown but we could moor if we wanted. Hundreds of other boats, in various states of working condition, looked as if they were permanently housed at the marina. Unaware the marina was located so far from town, we had little choice but to wait for our ride. Happy to rest up for a bit, I was rudely shocked by a loud crashing sound into our boat shortly after settling. Turns out another couple of novice sailors, more inept than us, forgot to moor their boat securely, allowing the back end to be taken by the current for a little trip ending when it slammed into our vessel. The man who initially greeted us ran from his office, yelling and I watched with amusement from inside our cabin. Daryl stood on the deck and made way for the helper to cross over our deck so he could move the invading vessel from our waters. The couple driving the boat, obviously French were all a fluster and French vocabulary was heard in rapid succession. Amused, we noted no damage to poor William and headed off to meet Jenny and Pete in the carpark.
Meeting people for the first time that you know, but don’t, is always a bit strange. Jenny is my late father’s niece but we have never met, only conversing the last couple of years through Facebook. Jenny and Pete arrived and it was like meeting old friends - easy company, full of grand stories and just so very welcoming. They even brought us a gift of wine and cider for our canal cruise. Just so thoughtful. We hope we didn’t disappoint them in return. Again, you never know what picture of yourselves you have painted through emails, Facebook, and the like; hopefully reality is accurately reflected ( we obviously have our drink preferences down pat!)
After initial greetings, the suggestion of journeying to Chirk Castle was presented to us and we nearly squealed with joy as it was definitely on our list to visit. Thus we spent a most delightful afternoon, enjoying lunch at the castle, an excellent tour and finished with coffee and cake, off course. Chirk Castle ( Castell y Waun) now maintained by the National Trust, was built in the late 13th century and served as a border fortress for 300 years. In 1595 Sir Thomas Myddleton bought the castle, with the intention of turning it into a grand family home.The family owned the castle for more than 400 years. In 1981 the National Trust took over ownership of the castle and the 480 acres of the estate. Again this castle offers visitors an opportunity to explore a time we cannot begin to comprehend. Grand, sound and offering majestic views, the Chirk Castle is a great way to spend a few hours. My favourite room was the library, hosting hundreds of books, the oldest dating back to 518 AD! Our afternoon ended with a quick tour of Wicked William, with Jenny and Pete, before bidding them goodbye. Cruising along for another couple of hours we moored up in a quiet area just before the famous Pontcysyllte Aqueduct ready for tomorrow’s crossing. After a dinner of toasted cheese sandwiches, a few games of cards, winnings favouring Daryl, we called it quits.
Pontcysyllte Aqueduct became a world heritage site in 2009. At 307 metres long, 3.6 metres wide, 1.6 metres deep it is the longest and highest aqueduct in Britain and carries the canal 38 metres above the River Dee. It consists of 18 piers and 19 arches, each with a span of 13.7 metres, built hollow at the top to reduce the weight. Taking ten years to build, it was opened in 1805. There is a towpath mounted above the trough and pedestrians can walk the length of the aqueduct, with a railing on the side for their protection. But there is no railing on the other side and boaters feel as if they are suspended in mid air. We crossed the aqueduct in strong winds, so had only a few brave walkers were along the towpath. The crossing is spectacular, it is also daunting and takes a lot of courage to look over the edge. The views are breathtaking but the constant knocking of the boat against the trough is a little disconcerting. Once across you are met with a very sharp left hand turn to continue on the canal. There is a shop situated on the bend, and many pedestrians enjoy their lunch while watching the challenges boats have navigating this route. The length of boat is definitely worth consideration when hiring. Daryl and I helped a couple and their two children who were trying desperately to turn the vessel, at one stage the woman nearly went into the murky waters - concentrating so hard pulling the tow rope she nearly forgot to let go.
Our destination was the little village of Llangollen and we arrived late in the afternoon, after an enjoyable cruising time on the waterways for several hours. Choosing to moor at the marina, we were surprised to find ourselves docked next to our Frenchy friends from the Chirk marina! Settling in, we went for a walk to explore the gorgeous town. Built around the Dee River (spectacular all on its on), the village also boasts a heritage railway line, which off course we booked tickets to travel on that afternoon. Disappointingly the steam train was out of service so we had to settle for the diesel engine. Lunch was enjoyed at a cafe on the banks of the River Dee. A couple of ladies, seated next to us, enquired about our accents and then proceeded to chat to us about the highlights of the area and some local historical gossip, in particular ‘Plas Newydd’ most notable as the home where two Irish ladies, Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Sarah Ponsonby (famously known as the Llangollen ladies) eloped and set up house together in the late 18th century, scandalising contemporary British Society. We strolled along the main street, lined with smaller shops offering their wares and Daryl bought an iconic Pork Pie to sample from the local butcher. We booked in for dinner at the Corn Mill, recommended by many on our journey, and it was fabulous. A warm evening, we were pleased to be able to enjoy our after dinner drinks on the balcony built over the river. The gushing of the water roaring over the rocks set a scenic backdrop to our night and provided a welcome cool breeze.
Earlier in the afternoon, with increasing temperatures, we boarded the train which would take us from Llangollen to Corwen station on the only standard gauge heritage railway in North Wales. The trip is ten miles in length through the Dee Valley, with five stations along the way, including the notable Horseshoe Falls. Daryl explored the Falls the next morning, while I enjoyed a sleep in. It is a three kilometre walk from the marina in most picturesque surroundings. Intending to get as far as Ellesmere by evening we set out on the canal to again cross the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct in much calmer conditions.
Having arranged to meet Karen and Charles for dinner we enjoyed another lovely meal in the Ellesmere centre, regaling them with our adventurous tales, before returning to our floating home. Overnight we witnessed a magnificent thunderstorm including lightning and thunder. Unfortunately, it did not help reduce the temperatures or the humidity.
After a restless night, we set about finding some wifi to book a few things for our impending London trip and managed to waste a couple of hours, achieve very little while drinking mediocre hot chocolate. Giving up, with considerable grumbling we set out for the canal once again. The day continued as it started, and we ended up travelling along miles of farmland, mosses and meres, bitten by bugs, hot and cranky. The meres are located either side of Llangollen canal and collectively create what is known as Shropshire’s ‘Lakes District’. It is thought the meres were created by large blocks of ice left behind at the end of the last Ice Age. As the glaciers retreated the blocks of ice became buried beneath rock debris and when the ice melted hollows were left. These gradually became filled with water. The Mosses or raised bog is a section of the canal, between Whitchurch and Ellesmere, that originally cut through a large peat area approximately 8 kms long and 2.5 kms wide is home to a large range of wildlife.
It was in this region, while trying to do the right thing and allow the oncoming traffic right of passage through a narrow bridge, that I managed to beach our boat! Poor William was stuck fast in the mud and tree root growth that has managed to sneak into the canal edges. We weren’t moving. Daryl was on the barge pole, tied the rope from the front, but we stuck fast. As we have found on the canal, help is never far away. Two chaps from the oncoming boat had jumped to our assistance, they both grabbed the rope, full throttle forward, Daryl again giving his all heaving the barge pole. To many cheers, William was again mobile! Much thanks and waves were passed between all involved, just all part of the journey on the canals.
Trying to escape the humidity and the little critters, we stopped at Whitchurch to again try to get some internet connection and continue our London planning. After a very long, hilly walk into town, we downed a few drinks ( it was even too hot for alcohol for me!) and managed to book a couple of events. Side note, train travel in England is disgraceful, the cost is horrendous, even when you book ahead. London better be worth the cost to get there! When the pub got too hot, we walked back and continued boating into the cool of the evening and finally moored at Grindley Brook. The canal passes through the village of Grindley Brook rising/falling 12.1 metres via a three lock staircase flight just outside the village and then three further locks in the village. The staircase flight, the only one on this canal, is overlooked by a grand lock keeper’s cottage from where there is always a lock keeper on hand to help boaters. We were fortunate to have the lock keeper help on both trips through the staircase. Having someone on both sides, when going through locks in such quick succession, certainly makes it easier for the lock operator. In between going through the locks (we calculated we did 20 locks yesterday) we stopped at Wrenbury for two reasons.
1. It’s the only place to turn the boat around which we needed.
2. It has a pub (Dusty Miller’s) right on the canal, close to our mooring point.
Again, no air conditioner and it was clear the waitress was struggling in the heat, but the meal was fabulous. The town has an electric drawbridge that is key operated and impacts all traffic entering and exiting the main part of the village. Tractors laden with silage made steady tracks through the drawbridge yesterday, while we ate our lunch, and it was a sight we would not see often at home. Some of the equipment barely fit across the bridge and you could hear it groaning under the weight of the loads it was trying to support. It took us four hours to travel up the canal and only three hours on the return trip. It is amazing what a difference it makes with the boating traffic and lock positions. We lucked out a bit on the way out. Of the three draw bridges we needed to operate, one was locked open and this saves a good five to ten minutes each time.
Docking along the same stretch as the night before we chose to have left-overs for dinner and crashed in our camp chairs on the canal bank under the shade. The storms that were forecast didn’t eventuate in our neck of the woods, and we only had a few showers, adding to the humidity.
Today, has been a good day, we are enjoying a very relaxed trip back to Ellesmere, including a leisurely home cooked breakfast on the canal bank, before setting off and a simple lunch on the boat. We will be meeting Jenny and Pete again for tea tonight.
Along this journey we have met some interesting characters, fisherman, families travelling for the first time, reunited friends enjoying a different type of holiday, couples who go out for three months at a time every year on their narrow boat, foreigners who think it’s a bit of a blast to do this type of boating and singles who enjoy their own company, sometimes with a dog or two, or occasionally a cat as they cruise around the UK. For us, it has been the most unique experience so far. Totally independent, we have set our own course and speed, dealt with a range of challenges, including a blocked kitchen sink (thanks to the previous incumbent pushing a straw into the pipe work), and managed to still like each other after living in very close quarters 24/7. We quickly learnt to shower in the evening, after the motor had run long enough to heat the water, and while we were there to wash our clothes so they could be hung, for all to see, the following day on the boat rails outside. We have been the inadvertent subject of many holiday snaps as people seem quite taken by the narrow boats. One young lad, asked to take a photo alongside the boat as his name was William also. Too cute!
Daryl’s parents undertook a similar journey some 25 years ago and I wonder if a seed was planted into Daryl’s subconscious way back then. Max has been a firm supporter of our plan to travel the canals and the trip itself. I take my hat off to Max and Enid for doing their UK adventure without a GPS. Not sure we would have been so successful. Max has called us a couple of times, despite the exorbitant cost of an overseas call, just to be sure we are ok, he really does make our day. Along the way we have managed to message home, call the kids a few times and even video chat some of the grandkids. Home is not far away now, in fact only two weeks.
I have been asked on a number of occasions if the canal trip is what I expected and honestly it is, and it isn’t. The narrow boats, provide an opportunity to slow down, this takes some getting used to. Limited internet access is challenging, indefinite periods of cruising along the countryside with no sounds other than the bird life or your partner, allows much time for reflection and pause. With all this time, I could have read a novel or two. I brought them, but the reality is, I didn’t want to. Nature is quietly magnetic, drawing you into her world, therapeutic and soul soothing. It is indeed unique.
Would I do it again? In a heart beat, in a different canal, with the same partner, any day of the week ( preferably not in summer though)
Until next time,
N
Monday, 22 July 2019
One email, one mistake, one adventure!
Llandudno, located in the North west tip of Wales is where we chose to camp in preparation for a few days exploring this spectacular part of the world, however as fate would have it, our stay was less than 24 hours. One email, received at midnight Welsh time, was all it took and our plans for the next two weeks were abruptly altered.
Unable to sleep, I was trolling though a variety of sites, as Daryl slept soundly beside me. The local youth were out on the town and were still partying on at 2am, while the neighbouring old women, were chatting very loudly until well into the early morning.
We arrived about 9pm just in time to check in and go for a walk on the pier. After unloading our gear, we went straight back out to a light splattering of rain. Feeling adventurous and tired of being cooped up in a car, we decided it wasn’t very heavy and a walk would be ideal. Maybe we’d find a little pub on the journey and stop for a wee tipple. Our hotel was situated overlooking the bay and the pier was lit up like a Christmas tree. Admiring the view, especially the 250 offshore wind generators, we were not prepared for the increased rain and promptly got drenched. Within minutes the heavy cloud had rolled in blanketing the view and it was clear we needed to get indoors. Thankfully our hotel had a bar and it was open. Arriving back, we were dripping and the host simply laughed and offered us a drink. We spent an enjoyable hour or so chatting with the chef/barman and then another couple arrived, also involved with ownership of the hotel and we listened to their tales of travels in Australia. By 11pm Daryl was wilting and I needed dry clothes.
As previously noted I couldn’t sleep, lots on my mind, so the internet was my best friend for a few hours. It was then that I was rudely brought back to earth when an email came through from the owners of the Whittington Wharf, narrowboat hire company, asking if we were ok. They hadn’t heard from us and they expected us to pick up the boat two days before. Momentarily stunned, I read the email again, and I sensed we had somehow royally stuffed up. Quickly scouring back through old emails, I found the original booking from March and it corresponded with their date. Our date, on the itinerary we wrote from home, checked and cross referenced at least a dozen times said the week later July 23 (the date to return the boat).
What a muddle. What a potential disaster. We had planned the whole trip around this week. Daryl had talked a so much about this trip and somehow we got it wrong and we were now across the country. While I quietly panicked, Daryl continued dreaming and when he rolled over, I took that as a sign he was waking up. Nudging him, I told him we were supposed to be on the canal boat, repeating it to ensure he understood me, he quickly bolted upright with an expletive or three. Now that I was sure he was awake, also hoping I was now annoying the loud ladies next door, I explained the email and subsequent issues it created. Sleep, to say the very least, did not come easily again and before I knew it, five thirty was ticking over and the sun was up. It was shower time.
Previously, our phones had again been playing up and turns out I had no credit to make any calls, this was problematic as I needed to call the narrow boat company. First things first, breakfast and then the EE phone company. Solving the rumbling tummies and phone credit by 0830am it was time to see what our options would be regarding the canal trip. In my head we would have three options:
1. Suck it up and drive back to Ellesmere that morning, collect the boat and loose three days from our week.
2. Loose our booking and our money.
3. Have a new booking and pay.
Apologising as best as possible, for being stupid, the owner of the narrow boat company was just wonderful. He could not have been more helpful. After an exchange of a few phone calls including the car hire company, we had a plan. A very good plan. We could hire the boat from the upcoming Saturday to the following Saturday, at no extra cost. Daryl’s eyes lit up like a kid with a new toy train at Christmas. The new plan meant returning the car a few days early to a different location, moving our dates for London back a few days and squeezing in Liverpool before heading back to Karen and Charles’ place in Ellesmere to get our washing done and organise ourselves to get on the boat.
What a rush, what a muddle, but in the end all is well in the world. We managed to get ourselves to the Orme Tram car, famous in Llandudno as the only cable car in the UK to take passengers to the top of the mountain and back. It was well worth the hilly walk to its station. We were also happy to miss the very large school group that started ascending the hill as we disembarked. Requiring two trams to get to the top of the mountain, once you get there the views are spectacular, but beware the roaming goats. Hoping to catch the chairlifts back to the bottom of the hill we were disappointed to see it closed due to strong winds. The young girl, working at the chairlift entrance, clearly spent so much time putting on her makeup that morning that she was too exhausted to be polite or helpful to enquiring customers.
Once again, we contributed to the local Llandudno economy, not only with the purchase of morning tea, but also another suitcase. Seems we have filled the ones we brought over. Our new suitcase is already full! Making swift arrangements while enjoying tea and cake, we booked our accommodation to Liverpool, our next destination. The Beatles Museum was in our sights for the next day. Before that however, we had two stops to make. Firstly the Conwy Castle, built to effectively keep out the Welsh. Built by Edward I, during his conquest of Wales between 1283 and 1289 it reportedly cost in the vicinity of £15,000! This 13th century castle is huge and rustic. We explored this ruin, set in the middle of the town, with its crazy history and marvelled at the architecture, sound building practices, allowing it to still stand today and the treachery and deceit of the men and women of the era. Ironically, it is now the Welsh that charge the English and other foreign visitors money to visit this castle. Visiting a small market, we saw a few crafty displays and more interestingly a large seagull knock a woman’s bowl of nuts to the ground that she was holding in her hand. Before the nuts hit the ground the seagull’s friends and enemies were swarming around the shocked ladies ankles. After finding a tea rooms for another late lunch we stopped by another National Trust treasure, a merchant house named Ty Aberconwy House, hidden amongst the many tourist outlets. Downstairs was a store where I found some more treasures, but upstairs was the restored home as it would have been in the 15th century when it was owned by a wealthy merchant. Aware of the time, we made tracks but not before travelling to a nearby town that boasts the longest name in the UK, and the world. "Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch" translates to "The church of Mary in the hollow of the white hazel near the fierce whirlpool and the church of Tysilio by the red cave". By my count this name contains 58 letters, and it seems my cousin, Karen, can say it as smoothly as warm custard. We tried - no hope!
Destination Liverpool was on the agenda for the sole purpose of visiting the world famous Beatles Museum. We arrived right on opening time and with pre-booked tickets skipped the growing entry line and quickly escaped from the rain. The next two and half hours were spent back in the 1960s where life was much different to now. The stories, the audio interviews, the video footage, the displays, both photographic and materialistic, were inspiring and well worth the entry fee. I was left questioning so many things that they alluded too - why the manager died so young, what led to the replacement of the original drummer with Ringo, the impact of wives and the eventual beak up of the world famous band. Not sure where those answers might be found to the interested commoner, but I suspect no-one apart from the individuals concerned will ever know the whole truth. In the meantime, we continue to enjoy their music and the music of their individual endeavours including bands such as Wings, The Travelling Wilbury’s and audiobooks like Thomas the Tank Engine.
Afterwards we had the most expensive brunch to date and wandered the Docks, again in the rain. Searching for the statues of the Paul, John, Ringo and George we found it near the Liverpool museum, some way from the Docks. Dripping wet, a stranger took our photo in front of the life size statues and we did the same for them. At least they had umbrellas, clearly we did not. The Docks themselves have been morphed into a tourist zone now, filled with restaurants, cafes, and souvenir shops but it is easy to imagine it filled with workers and boats hauling cargo from one bay to another.
Returning our hire car to Liverpool, Daryl and I then set off on our next adventure, the English/Welsh rail service to Gobowen. Carrying all our cases, filled full to bursting, we lugged them down stairs and onto the train platform. Somehow we managed to get them onboard the train for the first leg, Liverpool to Chester. As luck would have it, we sat next to an elderly gentleman who chatted away for the duration. Having been born near Oswestry, he now resides near Chester. We spoke about places we had been and then planned to go. He provided some thoughtful suggestions and bid us good luck on our journey. As he departed the train to collect his car, I quietly hoped he was going home to someone special, he seemed like such a dear man. We alighted at Chester, and miraculously found our way to the right platform for the next service. When it arrived, we were surprised to see it only had two carriages and there was an awful lot of people waiting to get on. Not backwards in coming forward, when necessary, we made our way to the yellow line, bags in tow. The train stopped with doors right in front of me and I quickly hauled suitcases on board and found a spot for them, Daryl passing me a new one in swift succession. We were a well oiled machine. The train was overflowing with passengers and many were left standing. Feeling impressed by our efforts, I quickly became concerned when I realised they weren’t announcing the stations. Neither Daryl nor I, had a clue which order they went in, our bags were jammed in behind ten others and each stop was only a few seconds. Troopers that we can be, we craned our necks as far as possible to catch a glimpse of each oncoming town to work out which would be our stop. You should have seen us jump into action as we saw Gobowen in our sight. Obviously we got our bags, and got off the train in sufficient time. Next part was a taxi ride and again luck was on our side. A driver, in a station wagon, (we would never have fit in our luggage in a sedan), was there waiting for passengers. A jovial fellow, obviously local, he found his way to the cousin’s home with no hassle and shared some tips and tricks for us as we explore Wales, his home country.
We were much relieved to arrive ‘home’ and found ourselves welcomed by the cat and relished the opportunity to take our shoes off, get out of the rain make a cup of tea and rest up. Ever accommodating, Charles and Karen, provided not only a bed, great dinner location ( delicious food, lots of clocks), breakfast, good company and transportation to the canal but also became chauffeurs again as we needed to post some more postcards and then get supplies, from the local supermarket, for our impending water adventure.
Wicked William was waiting for us, patiently and well prepared. Let’s hope for smooth sailing, even if only on the Welsh canals.
Until next time,
N
Unable to sleep, I was trolling though a variety of sites, as Daryl slept soundly beside me. The local youth were out on the town and were still partying on at 2am, while the neighbouring old women, were chatting very loudly until well into the early morning.
We arrived about 9pm just in time to check in and go for a walk on the pier. After unloading our gear, we went straight back out to a light splattering of rain. Feeling adventurous and tired of being cooped up in a car, we decided it wasn’t very heavy and a walk would be ideal. Maybe we’d find a little pub on the journey and stop for a wee tipple. Our hotel was situated overlooking the bay and the pier was lit up like a Christmas tree. Admiring the view, especially the 250 offshore wind generators, we were not prepared for the increased rain and promptly got drenched. Within minutes the heavy cloud had rolled in blanketing the view and it was clear we needed to get indoors. Thankfully our hotel had a bar and it was open. Arriving back, we were dripping and the host simply laughed and offered us a drink. We spent an enjoyable hour or so chatting with the chef/barman and then another couple arrived, also involved with ownership of the hotel and we listened to their tales of travels in Australia. By 11pm Daryl was wilting and I needed dry clothes.
As previously noted I couldn’t sleep, lots on my mind, so the internet was my best friend for a few hours. It was then that I was rudely brought back to earth when an email came through from the owners of the Whittington Wharf, narrowboat hire company, asking if we were ok. They hadn’t heard from us and they expected us to pick up the boat two days before. Momentarily stunned, I read the email again, and I sensed we had somehow royally stuffed up. Quickly scouring back through old emails, I found the original booking from March and it corresponded with their date. Our date, on the itinerary we wrote from home, checked and cross referenced at least a dozen times said the week later July 23 (the date to return the boat).
What a muddle. What a potential disaster. We had planned the whole trip around this week. Daryl had talked a so much about this trip and somehow we got it wrong and we were now across the country. While I quietly panicked, Daryl continued dreaming and when he rolled over, I took that as a sign he was waking up. Nudging him, I told him we were supposed to be on the canal boat, repeating it to ensure he understood me, he quickly bolted upright with an expletive or three. Now that I was sure he was awake, also hoping I was now annoying the loud ladies next door, I explained the email and subsequent issues it created. Sleep, to say the very least, did not come easily again and before I knew it, five thirty was ticking over and the sun was up. It was shower time.
Previously, our phones had again been playing up and turns out I had no credit to make any calls, this was problematic as I needed to call the narrow boat company. First things first, breakfast and then the EE phone company. Solving the rumbling tummies and phone credit by 0830am it was time to see what our options would be regarding the canal trip. In my head we would have three options:
1. Suck it up and drive back to Ellesmere that morning, collect the boat and loose three days from our week.
2. Loose our booking and our money.
3. Have a new booking and pay.
Apologising as best as possible, for being stupid, the owner of the narrow boat company was just wonderful. He could not have been more helpful. After an exchange of a few phone calls including the car hire company, we had a plan. A very good plan. We could hire the boat from the upcoming Saturday to the following Saturday, at no extra cost. Daryl’s eyes lit up like a kid with a new toy train at Christmas. The new plan meant returning the car a few days early to a different location, moving our dates for London back a few days and squeezing in Liverpool before heading back to Karen and Charles’ place in Ellesmere to get our washing done and organise ourselves to get on the boat.
What a rush, what a muddle, but in the end all is well in the world. We managed to get ourselves to the Orme Tram car, famous in Llandudno as the only cable car in the UK to take passengers to the top of the mountain and back. It was well worth the hilly walk to its station. We were also happy to miss the very large school group that started ascending the hill as we disembarked. Requiring two trams to get to the top of the mountain, once you get there the views are spectacular, but beware the roaming goats. Hoping to catch the chairlifts back to the bottom of the hill we were disappointed to see it closed due to strong winds. The young girl, working at the chairlift entrance, clearly spent so much time putting on her makeup that morning that she was too exhausted to be polite or helpful to enquiring customers.
Once again, we contributed to the local Llandudno economy, not only with the purchase of morning tea, but also another suitcase. Seems we have filled the ones we brought over. Our new suitcase is already full! Making swift arrangements while enjoying tea and cake, we booked our accommodation to Liverpool, our next destination. The Beatles Museum was in our sights for the next day. Before that however, we had two stops to make. Firstly the Conwy Castle, built to effectively keep out the Welsh. Built by Edward I, during his conquest of Wales between 1283 and 1289 it reportedly cost in the vicinity of £15,000! This 13th century castle is huge and rustic. We explored this ruin, set in the middle of the town, with its crazy history and marvelled at the architecture, sound building practices, allowing it to still stand today and the treachery and deceit of the men and women of the era. Ironically, it is now the Welsh that charge the English and other foreign visitors money to visit this castle. Visiting a small market, we saw a few crafty displays and more interestingly a large seagull knock a woman’s bowl of nuts to the ground that she was holding in her hand. Before the nuts hit the ground the seagull’s friends and enemies were swarming around the shocked ladies ankles. After finding a tea rooms for another late lunch we stopped by another National Trust treasure, a merchant house named Ty Aberconwy House, hidden amongst the many tourist outlets. Downstairs was a store where I found some more treasures, but upstairs was the restored home as it would have been in the 15th century when it was owned by a wealthy merchant. Aware of the time, we made tracks but not before travelling to a nearby town that boasts the longest name in the UK, and the world. "Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch" translates to "The church of Mary in the hollow of the white hazel near the fierce whirlpool and the church of Tysilio by the red cave". By my count this name contains 58 letters, and it seems my cousin, Karen, can say it as smoothly as warm custard. We tried - no hope!
Destination Liverpool was on the agenda for the sole purpose of visiting the world famous Beatles Museum. We arrived right on opening time and with pre-booked tickets skipped the growing entry line and quickly escaped from the rain. The next two and half hours were spent back in the 1960s where life was much different to now. The stories, the audio interviews, the video footage, the displays, both photographic and materialistic, were inspiring and well worth the entry fee. I was left questioning so many things that they alluded too - why the manager died so young, what led to the replacement of the original drummer with Ringo, the impact of wives and the eventual beak up of the world famous band. Not sure where those answers might be found to the interested commoner, but I suspect no-one apart from the individuals concerned will ever know the whole truth. In the meantime, we continue to enjoy their music and the music of their individual endeavours including bands such as Wings, The Travelling Wilbury’s and audiobooks like Thomas the Tank Engine.
Afterwards we had the most expensive brunch to date and wandered the Docks, again in the rain. Searching for the statues of the Paul, John, Ringo and George we found it near the Liverpool museum, some way from the Docks. Dripping wet, a stranger took our photo in front of the life size statues and we did the same for them. At least they had umbrellas, clearly we did not. The Docks themselves have been morphed into a tourist zone now, filled with restaurants, cafes, and souvenir shops but it is easy to imagine it filled with workers and boats hauling cargo from one bay to another.
Returning our hire car to Liverpool, Daryl and I then set off on our next adventure, the English/Welsh rail service to Gobowen. Carrying all our cases, filled full to bursting, we lugged them down stairs and onto the train platform. Somehow we managed to get them onboard the train for the first leg, Liverpool to Chester. As luck would have it, we sat next to an elderly gentleman who chatted away for the duration. Having been born near Oswestry, he now resides near Chester. We spoke about places we had been and then planned to go. He provided some thoughtful suggestions and bid us good luck on our journey. As he departed the train to collect his car, I quietly hoped he was going home to someone special, he seemed like such a dear man. We alighted at Chester, and miraculously found our way to the right platform for the next service. When it arrived, we were surprised to see it only had two carriages and there was an awful lot of people waiting to get on. Not backwards in coming forward, when necessary, we made our way to the yellow line, bags in tow. The train stopped with doors right in front of me and I quickly hauled suitcases on board and found a spot for them, Daryl passing me a new one in swift succession. We were a well oiled machine. The train was overflowing with passengers and many were left standing. Feeling impressed by our efforts, I quickly became concerned when I realised they weren’t announcing the stations. Neither Daryl nor I, had a clue which order they went in, our bags were jammed in behind ten others and each stop was only a few seconds. Troopers that we can be, we craned our necks as far as possible to catch a glimpse of each oncoming town to work out which would be our stop. You should have seen us jump into action as we saw Gobowen in our sight. Obviously we got our bags, and got off the train in sufficient time. Next part was a taxi ride and again luck was on our side. A driver, in a station wagon, (we would never have fit in our luggage in a sedan), was there waiting for passengers. A jovial fellow, obviously local, he found his way to the cousin’s home with no hassle and shared some tips and tricks for us as we explore Wales, his home country.
We were much relieved to arrive ‘home’ and found ourselves welcomed by the cat and relished the opportunity to take our shoes off, get out of the rain make a cup of tea and rest up. Ever accommodating, Charles and Karen, provided not only a bed, great dinner location ( delicious food, lots of clocks), breakfast, good company and transportation to the canal but also became chauffeurs again as we needed to post some more postcards and then get supplies, from the local supermarket, for our impending water adventure.
Wicked William was waiting for us, patiently and well prepared. Let’s hope for smooth sailing, even if only on the Welsh canals.
Until next time,
N
Day 30, 4329 miles later
Day 30 has just begun and our little car just ticked over 4329 miles or 6926 kilometres, plus a few nautical miles to cover the ferry crossings. We are sitting in a little cafe in a seaside village of Instow. We have ordered tea and milkshake with cakes and the community is a hive of activity. Summer has set in the English south and the radio is all talk about the heat. Right now it is a lovely moderate temperature set to rise to about 26 degrees, so certainly getting up there. As I sit here typing, I have a gentle set of dark eyes starring at me, expectantly. A very well behaved spaniel named Ted is one of four dogs joining us for morning tea in this small cafe. They are all on leads, well behaved and clearly accustomed to eating out with their human companions. We are still getting used to this practice and we see signs everywhere inviting the pampered pooches inside. Not sure what our health regulators would think of this idea.
We left our B&B this morning after a good sleep, in a decent bed. Located in Saint Teath, a tiny village near Port Isaac and a stones throw from the ocean. Our travels are taking us along the coastline and we expect to be in a Bath early this afternoon. For now I must go. I can’t travel and type - unfortunately.
Bath, was inscribed by UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation) as a World Heritage Site in 1987 and once you arrive you can see why. World Heritage Sites are considered places of outstanding universal value to the whole of humanity. Bath was added as a cultural site because of its Roman remains, 18th century architecture, town planning, hot springs and landscape settings. It’s architecture is uniformed and quite grand. Designed to be made from the local rock quarried from the underground mines that are the foundation of this city. Therefore the buildings are all the same colour! But while the buildings above ground are majestic and quite inspiring, the portion of the city built on top of the mines is
lucky to be still standing. Hundreds of years of mining left the houses under threat of collapse and in the past few years tonnes of concrete has been pumped into the mines to support the town.
Arriving in Bath by the early afternoon and we are planning to stay in Stratford Upon Avon that night, so we still had a long drive ahead of us. Regardless, we wanted to see as much as possible so we hopped on the first of two sightseeing bus routes to go for a tour around the city, including into the hills surrounding Bath. It was hot sitting on the open deck, we had no hats and it was clear our tour guide had worked a long day, she really needed a hat. The tour was informative and a great way to see the sights without wrecking our legs. Jumping off one bus we found the pick up for the second On-Off Bus to take the inner city sights, and again enjoyed the scenery and history of the place. Our first stop was at the Jane Austen Centre and I dragged poor Daryl along. Unfortunately, this is nothing more than an opportunity to fleece tourists holiday money with a theatrical style presentation of Jane Austen’s family, life and early death, with dress ups and paintings and portraits from the era. There was nothing authentic about the displays, apparently they are held at Chowton House, located outside of Bath. Our time schedule did not allow a visit there, and after admiring a full size wax figurine of Jane, I bought a few trinkets and left somewhat disappointed by the experience. Never the less, it’s all part of the journey, the good, bad and in between.
Hopping back on the bus we ended up at our final destination the famous Roman Baths. Now this was a site to behold. Unintentionally we spent more than two hours here, immersing ourselves into a time, so foreign to us, that it is hard to process at times. While you are unable to bathe in the waters, for obvious health reasons, you can taste it - warm and a little salty. If you want to indulge in a spa or bath in the waters akin to the Roman Baths, you can pay for the privilege at a nearby spa and treatment centre. Maybe next time! Already feeling a little weary we
looked for a spot to have dinner but found the restaurants and pubs around the Bath centre are a bit fancy and we were not in the mood. It was late, it was hot and I was hangry. With a two hour drive to go, we grumbled into the car muttering something about finding a place along the way, and hope they we’re still serving food. And we were in luck. A four hundred year old stables converted into a restaurant and accommodation house was open and delightful. Although we were quite under-dressed and looking a little haggard, they we friendly and their food was delicious.
Stratford Upon Avon was our home for one night and we pulled up just shy of 10pm. Our host, Sue, was fabulous, and the room at Quilts and Croissants was well set up and comfortable. On for a chat, Sue told us about her own adventures in Australia many years ago, before bidding us goodnight. There is no doubt that the personality of the hosts makes all the difference when it comes to recommending a hotel or B&B and Sue outdid herself, mind you she has had twenty two years experience in the trade so she should know what works and what doesn’t. Breakfast was laid on and again she was happy to chat and provide us with ideas for getting around town and avoiding the crowds. She gave us a walking tour map with notes and so we set off to explore this historic town, most famous as the birthplace of William Shakespeare. We enjoyed a lovely couple of hours strolling through the village, found Shakespeare’s grave in the Holy Trinity Church, nearby the canal. Holy Trinity is the church where Shakespeare was baptised, worshipped and finally buried. Beautifully restored and still in active service the church built around 1210 gets many visitors to its doors, and I am sure they all marvel at the Shakespeare family graves and history that is on display.
Surprisingly, we found a couple of antique stores and spent some time chatting with the proprietors. I found a few treasures, which naturally are not ideal flying weight. Not to worry, we will sort that out later. Daryl had an encounter with a knight as we dodged the masses of tourists trying to get photos of anything Shakespearean. A bit dry and hungry we decided it would be appropriate to have tea and cake at The Hathaway tea rooms. Anne Hathaway was William Shakespeare’s sweetheart, so the location seemed right. Nestled in amongst many other historic buildings the shop front is quite deceiving. Looking small and dark, the entryway then leads into a beautiful outdoor garden, filled with large trees, providing a natural umbrella and lots of shade. Not allowing smoking in the garden was another bonus. The tea was real, the service impeccable and the cake simply indulgent. Fortunately the car was some blocks away, so a walk was welcome. Bidding the village centre farewell, we headed for Llandudno but not before a stop to the Shakespeare distillery. What a find! Set outside the village, this small, craft distillery is a family owned venture run by only three people. The two brothers, head distiller and assistant distiller and the front man. We arrived in time for a tour, and spent the next hour and half learning all about gin history ( we now know where the term Dutch courage evolved), how to make it and off course trying the three varieties they specialise in. I won the toss and Daryl said he would drive, so I got to sample a larger portion of gin. What a treat... dry, rhubarb and mulberry, straight and then with a selection of tonics. I have now located a supplier to Australia for this wonderful drop of satisfying liquid. If you’re are a gin drinker, try looking out for the local craft produce, it tastes a thousand times better than the mass produced products seen in every bar and alcohol outlet.
Considering a next destination would nearly take us past my cousins place, we detoured and stopped in for a quick hello. How lovely it was to see them again, after a few weeks away. We enjoyed a chat, cup of tea and then we were on our way again. North Wales with its famous Orme Tram car was set into the GPS and we settled in for another lengthy drive.
Until next time,
N
Tuesday, 16 July 2019
The Doc is in the house
The doctor was indeed in the house. Yesterday, we pulled into Port Isaac (the fictional town of Port Wenn) and unbeknownst to us filming for the next series of Doc Martin was in session. Port Isaac has been home to fisherman since the 14th century and it is still a busy, working port where catches of crabs, fish and lobsters are unloaded on The Platt situated at the heart of the village. And for 20 weeks every two years since 2003 the world renowned series Doc Martin has been filmed in this picturesque location. When we arrived mid morning, there was a buzz about town, with throngs of tourists walking the narrow, windy lanes. You are not allowed to drive through town when filming is on, so parking is a proverbial nightmare. A few special tourists ignored the large No Entry signs and found themselves stuck at the other end of town with no way out, except to do a 27 point turn, aggravate the pedestrians, locals and film crews and slink back up the hill to find a car park like the rest of us commoners. Timing it well, we were able to book into a local Doc Martin tour. With half an hour to spare Daryl made his way to fill the parking meter.
Half an hour later he called to tell me to start the tour without him, as he was having some issues. Seems we used the remainder of our cash change getting tickets for the tour and the parking machine would not accept card payments - they have everywhere else! As the time had run out he needed to move. He also discovered there is only one ATM in town (nowhere near the car park). A few terse phone calls were had, as Daryl continued to get more frustrated with the system. The phone reception in Port Isaac is poor, especially once you get into the village proper. The poor man, was clearly given a rough hand. Finally a carpark was found. The next challenge was getting change. Daryl said he nearly jumped the counter and took out the rude checkout chick after she refused to give him the right change for the meter after he bought a bottle of water. I suspect the hot, humid conditions did nothing to reduce the rising tempers. While Daryl was getting hot under the collar, the tour had indeed started, without him, but at a very slow and considered pace, in the hope of him catching us. I was joined by two ladies from America, Christina and Harriet, along with Mick, the tour guide. A local who has played minor supporting roles in the series. They were all very kind and quite concerned with Daryl’s dilemma. I suspect Mike went extra slow, until we finally saw Daryl at the end of the laneway. His appearance was greeted with a loud cheer and a “Praise the Lord” from Christina. She is a Wesleyan fan and was delighted when we came across a church belonging to the ministry that was set up in the port. The tour took us to parts of the village, the average tourist would not see, as we simply wouldn’t know about it. Tucked away through the smallest alley in the world, measuring 18 inches wide (it used to be 15 inches) along narrow cobbled stone roads, we meandered along hearing about some fantastic stories about the town, it’s characters and the quirks of working on a film set. We stopped at the iconic stores in the show including the pharmacy (really a sweets shops), the school (now a popular hotel), Luisa’s home (rented out for £1200 per week and booked well into next year), Aunt Ruth’s home, the police stations, the iconic Doctor’s surgery and the pub. We learnt that most of the buildings are only used for their front doors, as the inside is way too small.
A studio was built about two miles up the hill for the sole purpose of this series, and the remainder of the filming is undertaken there. During the filming season the crew and cast stay in the village and rent out 27 homes within the centre of town. Filming is done for 12 hours a day and a good day will result in three minutes of filming. Crazy. Mike told us tales about stunt doubles, in particular where Luisa had her terrible car accident. I have included photos on the Facebook page of her, her stunt double (well padded) and finally the dummy used for the shot. A camera in the back of the offending vehicle captured the shot and shocked all viewers for its realistic depiction. Daryl was up close and personal with the Doc’s Lexus and watched with some trepidation as it was driven down one of the narrow roads, we quickly found a gateway to get out of the way! While waiting outside the doc’s surgery we saw Mrs Tishell as she prepared for her next take. The Doc himself came out and said hello to fans from the pub patio. Full of smiles and offering odd, commentary he was quite amusing.
Mike explained how the town continues to operate, as normal as possible, during filming, and you can see the crowds of people congregating around the filming spots hoping to get a glimpse, a photo or an autograph from the stars. You can hear the crew asking the crowds to be quiet while filming takes place, and a for a few minutes, everyone in the area is silent. The tour, took in some of the local businesses including the story of how the local got the rescue boat down the village Main Street within four minutes to the water. The boat was housed up the hill, the only place large enough and could only just get through the narrow corridor thanks to one home owner giving up part of his lounge and allowing them to cut away his external wall. Daryl wandered further up the hill and enjoyed some spectacular views, while I enjoyed a cup of tea in a quaint little cafe with my iPad handy.
To finish the day we booked in for a sunset boat cruise. Departing at 7.30pm from a wealthy little town called Rock, we had a quick bite to eat (most expensive pizza you could find) and we joined two other travellers. Max, our skipper, was a 19 year old with a clear dream of working on the waters. He was relaxed and delivered an informative and fun trip. We took in Port Isaac from the bay, Port Quinn, a lighthouse, land marker, sea rescue station, castle, and then played with the dolphins and porpoises. The porpoises had teamed up with a small flock of Gannets, in turn they had managed to round up school of fish that were under attack from the depths and dive bombed at great speed from above, what a sight! The Gannets are streamlined, sleek birds capable of hitting the water at speeds up to 62 miles per hour. With skin like bubble wrap, u der their feathers and internal nostrils they are spectacular to watch as they hone in on their underwater targets. The dolphins and porpoises are such beautiful creatures, they danced around the boat and try as I might it was very hard to capture a decent shot. The sunset was beautiful and the low cloud provided the backdrop for some mesmerising colours.
This was a wonderful way to end a rather special day, especially for us Doc Martin geeks.
On a side note, on our way to Port Isaac, we decided to get breakfast on the way to Port Isaac, and found ourselves travelling through the moors again, home of the New Forest ponies and headed towards Two Bridges. As we drove down a hill we saw a cyclist standing next to a pony laying on the road, and my first thought was the cyclist may have been hit, but as we got closer and subsequently stopped, the pony was clearly unwell. Another pony was standing next to his buddy, right on the road. The pony was too big to help so we did the next best thing and reported the unwell pony to the receptionist at our stop a few minutes later.
We had no idea what was, if anything, at Two Bridges, and found the Inn. A restored grand hotel, where geese welcome you, it was so impressive and breakfast was quite delicious. Thankfully the receptionist called one of the farmers and help was one it’s way to the little pony.
Quirky fact of the day: In one of the Doc Martin series, all scenes requiring the doc to drive a car were changed as he is reported to be quite a lead foot and had lost his licence. The Lexus was parked and he walked everywhere!
We are now off to the land of Shakespeare. Chat soon.
Until next time,
N
Half an hour later he called to tell me to start the tour without him, as he was having some issues. Seems we used the remainder of our cash change getting tickets for the tour and the parking machine would not accept card payments - they have everywhere else! As the time had run out he needed to move. He also discovered there is only one ATM in town (nowhere near the car park). A few terse phone calls were had, as Daryl continued to get more frustrated with the system. The phone reception in Port Isaac is poor, especially once you get into the village proper. The poor man, was clearly given a rough hand. Finally a carpark was found. The next challenge was getting change. Daryl said he nearly jumped the counter and took out the rude checkout chick after she refused to give him the right change for the meter after he bought a bottle of water. I suspect the hot, humid conditions did nothing to reduce the rising tempers. While Daryl was getting hot under the collar, the tour had indeed started, without him, but at a very slow and considered pace, in the hope of him catching us. I was joined by two ladies from America, Christina and Harriet, along with Mick, the tour guide. A local who has played minor supporting roles in the series. They were all very kind and quite concerned with Daryl’s dilemma. I suspect Mike went extra slow, until we finally saw Daryl at the end of the laneway. His appearance was greeted with a loud cheer and a “Praise the Lord” from Christina. She is a Wesleyan fan and was delighted when we came across a church belonging to the ministry that was set up in the port. The tour took us to parts of the village, the average tourist would not see, as we simply wouldn’t know about it. Tucked away through the smallest alley in the world, measuring 18 inches wide (it used to be 15 inches) along narrow cobbled stone roads, we meandered along hearing about some fantastic stories about the town, it’s characters and the quirks of working on a film set. We stopped at the iconic stores in the show including the pharmacy (really a sweets shops), the school (now a popular hotel), Luisa’s home (rented out for £1200 per week and booked well into next year), Aunt Ruth’s home, the police stations, the iconic Doctor’s surgery and the pub. We learnt that most of the buildings are only used for their front doors, as the inside is way too small.
A studio was built about two miles up the hill for the sole purpose of this series, and the remainder of the filming is undertaken there. During the filming season the crew and cast stay in the village and rent out 27 homes within the centre of town. Filming is done for 12 hours a day and a good day will result in three minutes of filming. Crazy. Mike told us tales about stunt doubles, in particular where Luisa had her terrible car accident. I have included photos on the Facebook page of her, her stunt double (well padded) and finally the dummy used for the shot. A camera in the back of the offending vehicle captured the shot and shocked all viewers for its realistic depiction. Daryl was up close and personal with the Doc’s Lexus and watched with some trepidation as it was driven down one of the narrow roads, we quickly found a gateway to get out of the way! While waiting outside the doc’s surgery we saw Mrs Tishell as she prepared for her next take. The Doc himself came out and said hello to fans from the pub patio. Full of smiles and offering odd, commentary he was quite amusing.
Mike explained how the town continues to operate, as normal as possible, during filming, and you can see the crowds of people congregating around the filming spots hoping to get a glimpse, a photo or an autograph from the stars. You can hear the crew asking the crowds to be quiet while filming takes place, and a for a few minutes, everyone in the area is silent. The tour, took in some of the local businesses including the story of how the local got the rescue boat down the village Main Street within four minutes to the water. The boat was housed up the hill, the only place large enough and could only just get through the narrow corridor thanks to one home owner giving up part of his lounge and allowing them to cut away his external wall. Daryl wandered further up the hill and enjoyed some spectacular views, while I enjoyed a cup of tea in a quaint little cafe with my iPad handy.
To finish the day we booked in for a sunset boat cruise. Departing at 7.30pm from a wealthy little town called Rock, we had a quick bite to eat (most expensive pizza you could find) and we joined two other travellers. Max, our skipper, was a 19 year old with a clear dream of working on the waters. He was relaxed and delivered an informative and fun trip. We took in Port Isaac from the bay, Port Quinn, a lighthouse, land marker, sea rescue station, castle, and then played with the dolphins and porpoises. The porpoises had teamed up with a small flock of Gannets, in turn they had managed to round up school of fish that were under attack from the depths and dive bombed at great speed from above, what a sight! The Gannets are streamlined, sleek birds capable of hitting the water at speeds up to 62 miles per hour. With skin like bubble wrap, u der their feathers and internal nostrils they are spectacular to watch as they hone in on their underwater targets. The dolphins and porpoises are such beautiful creatures, they danced around the boat and try as I might it was very hard to capture a decent shot. The sunset was beautiful and the low cloud provided the backdrop for some mesmerising colours.
This was a wonderful way to end a rather special day, especially for us Doc Martin geeks.
On a side note, on our way to Port Isaac, we decided to get breakfast on the way to Port Isaac, and found ourselves travelling through the moors again, home of the New Forest ponies and headed towards Two Bridges. As we drove down a hill we saw a cyclist standing next to a pony laying on the road, and my first thought was the cyclist may have been hit, but as we got closer and subsequently stopped, the pony was clearly unwell. Another pony was standing next to his buddy, right on the road. The pony was too big to help so we did the next best thing and reported the unwell pony to the receptionist at our stop a few minutes later.
We had no idea what was, if anything, at Two Bridges, and found the Inn. A restored grand hotel, where geese welcome you, it was so impressive and breakfast was quite delicious. Thankfully the receptionist called one of the farmers and help was one it’s way to the little pony.
Quirky fact of the day: In one of the Doc Martin series, all scenes requiring the doc to drive a car were changed as he is reported to be quite a lead foot and had lost his licence. The Lexus was parked and he walked everywhere!
We are now off to the land of Shakespeare. Chat soon.
Until next time,
N
48 hours a tourist along England’s south coast
The Isle of Wight did not disappoint. As a last minute decision we were delighted with the result and learnt a valuable lesson when booking activities. Once we decided the Isle would be a good way to spend a day, we started looking for ferry crossings on the iPad. As I started to book, and went part way through the process the price magically increased, and I received a message saying, your ferry crossing cost has just increased - high demand, book quickly! After the initial WTF moment I recalled a friend saying to delete your browsing history before booking as the cookies would track you...so feeling quite annoyed, I closed the site down, deleted all history and went to another site. Not only did I find a return crossing at half the price, the process was as smooth as the waters we were about the sail on. Driving to Portsmouth, we made it to the ferry terminal with 15 minutes to spare, despite missing a turn at the roundabout. The crossing was smooth and it was over before we expected.
We had two things on our agenda for the Isle - The 10 Mile Steam Train Museum and the Needles chairlift.
What a fabulous experience they both were.
The steam train, yes another one, is always a buzz, and even though this was a short journey, it took us from Wootton Station, which boasts a recreation of an Edwardian country terminus complete with waiting room and ticket office, to Havenstreet Station where there is a little collection of shops, a cafe and the railway museum. This station has been restored in-line with its 1940s beginnings including staff in full uniform of the era. The railway discovery centre provided us with the opportunity to go behind the scenes and see the specialists, many volunteers, undertaking the painstaking restoration work on these locomotives. Their passion and patience is admirable. We meandered through the gift store, museum, gallery and even had a bite to eat. The train rolled into the station and I had to scurry to the shop to buy some goodies, holding it up from departing in time.. oops. No-one seemed to upset about it, thankfully.
Travelling westward along the coast we enjoyed the coastal views where possible, and continued to shake our heads at the people laying on the stones, in lieu of sand, baking in the full sun and obviously enjoying the beach.
Arriving at Alum Bay, in particular The Needles on the western point of the Isle, we found a mini theme park. Well set up, in the theme of yesteryear, hundreds of tourists enjoying the setting. The chairlift was exhilarating and steep. If you haven’t yet, watch the short video we posted on the Facebook page. The steepness of the ride, takes your breath away along with the view. Just spectacular.
After the brief descent to the beach you find yourself surrounded by tall majestic cliff faces and the famous Needles, three rock formations, not too far from the shore. Some of the cliff faces are a kaleidoscope of colours, quite incredible really. They look like a painting, and their appearance changes in the light.
Daryl quickly spotted the fast boat ride and we promptly joined the queue. Life jackets on, I wasn’t quite sure what we were in for, but must report it was absolutely fantastic and over far too quickly. Again check out the video footage on the Facebook page. We got a close up view of the Needles, the lighthouse and the very white cliff faces, along the ocean. You can see recent landslides and some of the houses perched on the cliff tops would be wise to consider their future. After our exhilarating boat ride, a walk on the pebbly beach, we enjoyed some local ice cream before travelling in a northerly direction to Yarmouth to catch the ferry. A quaint town, we enjoyed some local custom before enjoying a leisurely passage to Lymington situated on the south coast of England.
We were fortunate enough to get some accommodation in Exeter, after my cousin was unable to use it. So for two nights we had a base and this was gratefully accepted. The fact that one toilet was out of service was an inconvenience and when the second toilet was found to be leaking, well I felt the owner may be up for some major plumbing works. A typical English town house it had three storeys and a steep, narrow, staircase. It served our purpose well, with a central location allowing us to walk into town for dinner.
The trip from Lymington to Exeter was picturesque and even more fascinating after we came across a number of ponies meandering calmly though the tiny village of Burley, on the way to Dorchester, and then for miles through the New Forest. The New Forest pony is a recognised mountain and moorland or native pony breed to the Bristol Isles. The breed is indigenous to the New Forest in Hampshire in southern England. All ponies grazing on the New Forest are owned by the New Forest commoners ( farmers with rights over the common pastures) and the pony population is suggested at well into the thousands. The ponies, are well cared for by the land owners, and some wear reflective collars to assist with identifying them at night to avoid collisions. By the way the ponies have right of way, not the cars. Along with the sheep, guinea fowl and cattle, it is not an uncommon sight for these ponies to wander in front of cars many times a day. They graze without caution on the roadside and it is clear they are used to the traffic. With a speed limit of 40 miles an hour, it is pleasing that most people respect this restriction. Sadly a sign states that 150 animals were killed last year by oncoming vehicles.
Given we had a base with a kitchen we thought we would be frugal and buy some porridge to cook for breakfast on our first morning saving us a small fortune, unfortunately this plan went to custard ( or chunky liquid) after I became quite unwell a short time later. After a difficult trip, Daryl found a stop at Paignton train station so I could use the facilities. While I was green to the gills, at least Daryl got to see another steam train leave the platform. Our destination for the day was Greenway, Agatha Christie’s holiday home, and then to follow the coast until we had seen enough.
By the time we arrived, near Brixham, I was feeling much better but very tired. Our walk around the National Trust homestead was slow and leisurely. This is another example of a beautiful home, that has been kept as close to the original state as possible. Agatha Christie wrote 74 books and the films based on her novels are famous around the world. Agatha herself was a woman of many talents and pursuits apart from her famous writing. She was born in 1890 in Torquay, Devon and married twice; she travelled on several archeological digs with her second husband and was appointed a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire (DBE) for her contribution to literature in 1971. Greenway is thought to have been built in the 16th century, and itself was used as the holiday home for the family since its purchase during the 1930’s. The gardens are vast and boast views over the Dart Estuary.
Leaving Greenway, we ferried to Dartmouth and by this stage I was finally getting a little hungry. Dartmouth is a seaside community steeped in history and architecture aided by waterfront and a picturesque main town centre. We perused some antique stores, contributed to the local economy and enjoyed the opportunity to stop here. This was only the second time since we have been visiting the Uk, that we enjoyed real loose leaf tea in a delightful little cafe, The Singing Kettle. Venturing further south we set the GPS to Start Point, an iconic lighthouse. One lane, windy, narrow roads, with high hedges prevented us sight seeing, and Daryl navigated expertly to avoid oncoming traffic, including a large truck. We reversed a very long way to find a patch of dirt to get out of its way. Clearly someone didn’t manage it so well as we saw the remnants of their side mirror on the roadside. Arriving at Start Point we enjoyed an immense view of the bay surrounding the lighthouse which was located quite a long way down. Discussing the possibilities of walking to the lighthouse, taking into account the winding, sloping, descent I wondered about the sensibility of such a trek. But not wanting to be the spoiler, I agreed to venture on down the track. The track was an exceptionally long, long, long way. The return trek back was twice as long! We watched with some concern, as three kayakers paddled their way in open waters, around the base of the lighthouse which in itself is notoriously rocky and rough. The potential for trouble was a little mesmerising. I chose not to climb the 183 year old lighthouse but admired its location and towering presence. Recovering from this climb took quite some time and I was reminded, painfully, that my hips are not going to accommodate excessive activity, no matter how much I will them to.
Daryl drove onwards heading in a south westerly direction and he woke me as we entered Hope Cove. A delightful little community with a beach, as close to the ones on our coastline, as possible. From the top of the hill the beach looks sandy and cream in colour, but once we set foot on it, realised it was in fact tiny stones that made up a very gritty beach. Protected by cliffs, and caves the area provides small private alcoves for couples, families and singletons to wile away the hours. Some people clearly forgot to slip, slop and slap. We actually braved the water, stuck our feet in it, but only for a few minutes, as the burn of the cold water was too much for my poor wintry soles. Feeling refreshed, it was time to journey back to Exeter.
Quirky fact of the day: Cyclists are not required to wear a helmet, it is recommended but not law. These people ride on the most precarious of roads, main roads and in and out of towns, in the middle of the road. Some carrying children.
Wow, just wow.
Until next time,
N
We had two things on our agenda for the Isle - The 10 Mile Steam Train Museum and the Needles chairlift.
What a fabulous experience they both were.
The steam train, yes another one, is always a buzz, and even though this was a short journey, it took us from Wootton Station, which boasts a recreation of an Edwardian country terminus complete with waiting room and ticket office, to Havenstreet Station where there is a little collection of shops, a cafe and the railway museum. This station has been restored in-line with its 1940s beginnings including staff in full uniform of the era. The railway discovery centre provided us with the opportunity to go behind the scenes and see the specialists, many volunteers, undertaking the painstaking restoration work on these locomotives. Their passion and patience is admirable. We meandered through the gift store, museum, gallery and even had a bite to eat. The train rolled into the station and I had to scurry to the shop to buy some goodies, holding it up from departing in time.. oops. No-one seemed to upset about it, thankfully.
Travelling westward along the coast we enjoyed the coastal views where possible, and continued to shake our heads at the people laying on the stones, in lieu of sand, baking in the full sun and obviously enjoying the beach.
Arriving at Alum Bay, in particular The Needles on the western point of the Isle, we found a mini theme park. Well set up, in the theme of yesteryear, hundreds of tourists enjoying the setting. The chairlift was exhilarating and steep. If you haven’t yet, watch the short video we posted on the Facebook page. The steepness of the ride, takes your breath away along with the view. Just spectacular.
After the brief descent to the beach you find yourself surrounded by tall majestic cliff faces and the famous Needles, three rock formations, not too far from the shore. Some of the cliff faces are a kaleidoscope of colours, quite incredible really. They look like a painting, and their appearance changes in the light.
Daryl quickly spotted the fast boat ride and we promptly joined the queue. Life jackets on, I wasn’t quite sure what we were in for, but must report it was absolutely fantastic and over far too quickly. Again check out the video footage on the Facebook page. We got a close up view of the Needles, the lighthouse and the very white cliff faces, along the ocean. You can see recent landslides and some of the houses perched on the cliff tops would be wise to consider their future. After our exhilarating boat ride, a walk on the pebbly beach, we enjoyed some local ice cream before travelling in a northerly direction to Yarmouth to catch the ferry. A quaint town, we enjoyed some local custom before enjoying a leisurely passage to Lymington situated on the south coast of England.
We were fortunate enough to get some accommodation in Exeter, after my cousin was unable to use it. So for two nights we had a base and this was gratefully accepted. The fact that one toilet was out of service was an inconvenience and when the second toilet was found to be leaking, well I felt the owner may be up for some major plumbing works. A typical English town house it had three storeys and a steep, narrow, staircase. It served our purpose well, with a central location allowing us to walk into town for dinner.
The trip from Lymington to Exeter was picturesque and even more fascinating after we came across a number of ponies meandering calmly though the tiny village of Burley, on the way to Dorchester, and then for miles through the New Forest. The New Forest pony is a recognised mountain and moorland or native pony breed to the Bristol Isles. The breed is indigenous to the New Forest in Hampshire in southern England. All ponies grazing on the New Forest are owned by the New Forest commoners ( farmers with rights over the common pastures) and the pony population is suggested at well into the thousands. The ponies, are well cared for by the land owners, and some wear reflective collars to assist with identifying them at night to avoid collisions. By the way the ponies have right of way, not the cars. Along with the sheep, guinea fowl and cattle, it is not an uncommon sight for these ponies to wander in front of cars many times a day. They graze without caution on the roadside and it is clear they are used to the traffic. With a speed limit of 40 miles an hour, it is pleasing that most people respect this restriction. Sadly a sign states that 150 animals were killed last year by oncoming vehicles.
Given we had a base with a kitchen we thought we would be frugal and buy some porridge to cook for breakfast on our first morning saving us a small fortune, unfortunately this plan went to custard ( or chunky liquid) after I became quite unwell a short time later. After a difficult trip, Daryl found a stop at Paignton train station so I could use the facilities. While I was green to the gills, at least Daryl got to see another steam train leave the platform. Our destination for the day was Greenway, Agatha Christie’s holiday home, and then to follow the coast until we had seen enough.
By the time we arrived, near Brixham, I was feeling much better but very tired. Our walk around the National Trust homestead was slow and leisurely. This is another example of a beautiful home, that has been kept as close to the original state as possible. Agatha Christie wrote 74 books and the films based on her novels are famous around the world. Agatha herself was a woman of many talents and pursuits apart from her famous writing. She was born in 1890 in Torquay, Devon and married twice; she travelled on several archeological digs with her second husband and was appointed a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire (DBE) for her contribution to literature in 1971. Greenway is thought to have been built in the 16th century, and itself was used as the holiday home for the family since its purchase during the 1930’s. The gardens are vast and boast views over the Dart Estuary.
Leaving Greenway, we ferried to Dartmouth and by this stage I was finally getting a little hungry. Dartmouth is a seaside community steeped in history and architecture aided by waterfront and a picturesque main town centre. We perused some antique stores, contributed to the local economy and enjoyed the opportunity to stop here. This was only the second time since we have been visiting the Uk, that we enjoyed real loose leaf tea in a delightful little cafe, The Singing Kettle. Venturing further south we set the GPS to Start Point, an iconic lighthouse. One lane, windy, narrow roads, with high hedges prevented us sight seeing, and Daryl navigated expertly to avoid oncoming traffic, including a large truck. We reversed a very long way to find a patch of dirt to get out of its way. Clearly someone didn’t manage it so well as we saw the remnants of their side mirror on the roadside. Arriving at Start Point we enjoyed an immense view of the bay surrounding the lighthouse which was located quite a long way down. Discussing the possibilities of walking to the lighthouse, taking into account the winding, sloping, descent I wondered about the sensibility of such a trek. But not wanting to be the spoiler, I agreed to venture on down the track. The track was an exceptionally long, long, long way. The return trek back was twice as long! We watched with some concern, as three kayakers paddled their way in open waters, around the base of the lighthouse which in itself is notoriously rocky and rough. The potential for trouble was a little mesmerising. I chose not to climb the 183 year old lighthouse but admired its location and towering presence. Recovering from this climb took quite some time and I was reminded, painfully, that my hips are not going to accommodate excessive activity, no matter how much I will them to.
Daryl drove onwards heading in a south westerly direction and he woke me as we entered Hope Cove. A delightful little community with a beach, as close to the ones on our coastline, as possible. From the top of the hill the beach looks sandy and cream in colour, but once we set foot on it, realised it was in fact tiny stones that made up a very gritty beach. Protected by cliffs, and caves the area provides small private alcoves for couples, families and singletons to wile away the hours. Some people clearly forgot to slip, slop and slap. We actually braved the water, stuck our feet in it, but only for a few minutes, as the burn of the cold water was too much for my poor wintry soles. Feeling refreshed, it was time to journey back to Exeter.
Quirky fact of the day: Cyclists are not required to wear a helmet, it is recommended but not law. These people ride on the most precarious of roads, main roads and in and out of towns, in the middle of the road. Some carrying children.
Wow, just wow.
Until next time,
N
Sunday, 14 July 2019
No bullbars, undies or phone service and other tales
The sun is shining brightly this morning, it’s Saturday here, I have been awake for a couple of hours, it’s now 7.20am, and another long day is ahead of us. We spent a warm night in a quaint hotel called Dean Inn, in the renovated barn of the 200 year old property. The Inn is located in a village called West Dean, founded by the Saxons as a fishing and salt producing community, it is now famous for the stunning walled gardens designed by Harold Peto. These gardens also include a park, arboretum and glass houses. Only a short drive from the ferry terminal at Portsmouth, West Dean provides easy access to the Isle of Wight, our destination today.
Previously, after our hasty getaway from Hull, we journeyed due south with the destination of a Dover planned. Stopping at Cambridge for a spot of breakfast, we again found this city to be busy, with little appeal. After a quick bite to eat and drive around the city, we found our way out and ventured to Dover. Famous for its white cliffs and Dover castle, this hilly village is larger than you expect. Filled with rows and rows of hotels, B&Bs, hostels and eateries, there is no shortage of accommodation for the thousands of tourists that descend on this place each year. We spent the afternoon strolling over and beside the cliffs, admiring the natural beauty before us. Daryl was momentarily distracted by a couple of young women, who were as close to naked as possible, one wearing a shift like dress that was completely see-through and she had no underclothes on. The other taking photos, was dressed to provoke a reaction, and clearly was pleased with her own form. Standing very close to the edge they were at risk of slipping as they went to great pains to perfect the pose. Wow, is all I can say. To have this much confidence leaves me a little envious.
Now that I have digressed let me return to the main part of our trip. The cliffs on both sides of the village shroud the shipping port providing sea crossings to France and return 23 hours a day. Logistically this port is a work of art, and watching from overhead provides a magnificent view of the hundreds of lorries, cars, motorbikes, the odd camper van and pedestrians who make this journey. A bit like watching worker bees, it’s mesmerising. We toyed with the idea of jumping on board and having a cuppa in France but decided our schedule was tight enough as it was, without adding another country to the mix. So maybe next time and probably via the tunnel, which seems to tweak Daryl’s interest more than the ferry.
The white cliffs of Dover reach a height of 110 metres and stretch for 16 kilometres and while their appearances is a stunning white, due the chalk, a soft white, very finely grained pure limestone, they hold a dark history. According to a researcher/author Tom Hunt ( no relative that we know of)who wrote Cliffs of Despair - A journey into Suicide’s Edge, more than 500 people have died since 1965, making it one of the most notorious suicide spots in the world. Other deaths have been attributed to accidents - tourists trying to get the greatest photo, slipping rocks, crumbling edges, drug affected party-goers, and the not so accidental like murder and others that are unexplainable. There are no safety railings on the tracks, and I found myself concentrating on my footing each step of the way. I also kept a tight hand in Daryl’s, when possible, to stop him from peering too closely over the edge, it makes me anxious. Despite the sadness that underpins the history of this place, it is indeed beautiful and worth a visit if ever you can.
The rest of our evening was taken up with long conversations with the call centre of the country’s Telco EE. A lovely girl from Londonderry, answered my call and I had to listen hard to understand her strong Irish accent. We had decided early in trip to get local SIM cards, which to this point have served us well, topping them up has been a minor issue as well as getting the ability to call international, which is becoming It seemed we had it all sorted but yesterday Daryl’s phone simply stopped working. Frustrating yes. He has now tried to call them to fix it but the message states he needs to put on credit to speak to technical support!! We did this yesterday and it has all vanished.
Despite these frustrations, making us feel like we are indeed back home talking to Telstra, we have little to complain about.
We debated about the value in visiting Dover Castle but in the end we went, and it proved to be a good decision. Considered one of the most iconic castles in the UK ( mind you they all say this) it is indeed commanding. The castle is perched high above the English channel and was started in 1168 by Henry II on the site of ramparts that were already some 1000 years old. The exhibits are many and varied and show a colourful and brutal history. It is well maintained and the evolvement of the current castle is quite outstanding. It still boasts the Great Tower and if you walk several hundred steps up a spiral staircase you are rewarded with some spectacular views across the country and then the English channel all the way to France. We visited the underground tunnels, cool and dark, it was quite a challenge walking the miles and miles of walkways that traverse underground (at least it seemed that far to me!) Thankfully the Heritage Trust, who maintains this site, provide a quirky little train to get weary tourists up and down the steep terrain. The train has two little carriages designed to match the attached Land Rover. Originally built to take tourists around Stonehenge, the designers miscalculated and it was deemed too wide for the tracks, hence the castle was the gifted the train. Bonus for us and the many others who enjoyed a tour around the grounds. After enjoying morning tea, priced as steeply as the roads, we decided it was time to make our own tracks.
Daryl had been doing a little research and found an article about a small town called Rye. Described as a hidden gem along England’s south coast we decided this would be our next stop. The drive, only a relatively short one, was extended thanks to Daryl’s ever growing obsession with avoiding the motorways. While I agree with him that they are dull, requiring a lot of concentration due to the speed freaks and ignorant lane changers, with little to no view of the area as you zoom pass, the back roads are also challenging. Our GPS speaker must shake her head, every time Daryl decides to take an alternate route. In the end we drove along miles of narrow laned roads, winding through the countryside, flagged on each side by hedges more than three metres in height. Couldn’t see a dammed thing and we added additional time to our already extensive travels. Fortunately, I sleep in the car and so I have now slept my way through substantial portions of the UK and Ireland and avoided many potential arguments as Daryl and his GPS meander through the countryside. Generally, however, I will wake promptly as Daryl tries to negotiate some of the roundabouts in the towns. Clearly they love them, roundabouts vary in shape and form, some are essentially a painted white circle on the road through to large ones, filled with trees, so you can’t see anything and some have as many as 5-7 exits, multiple lanes to enter and exit from and little warning for the nervous foreigner. They are everywhere. I have shared this roundabout experience on a number of occasions and we have both been known to go around the roundabout a few times before getting it right.
Daryl drives our poor little Citroen wishing it was an Aston Martin or Jaguar, zipping along like a race driver. There are so many of them here, Daryl is drooling and wondering what we can sell so he can send one home. It appears his preference is for the Aston but will settle for a Jag if the price is right. He has also talked about doing a package deal and sending a Land Rover home for the farm! I suspect the sea air is getting to him.
Rye, as it turns out, is an antique mecca with shops lining the streets, along with patisseries, ice creameries, cafes, book stores and so much more, many along cobblestone streets that are precarious to walk on. Old fashioned florists, butchers, bakeries and green grocers replace the large corporate shopping centres, it really is delightful. Time passed quickly and we walked away with a few trinkets that will hopefully make the flight home. Although to be honest, I am not sure how, another suitcase may be required. Antiques in the UK are cheap in comparison to home. What we pay for real antiques makes you squirm once you realise how common they are here. So on that vein, I have scheduled us into attend an English antique auction in a few days, once we arrive in Wales. Who knows what goodies we might bid for, once the adrenaline gets going!
Worn out, from too much sun, too much walking and too much driving, we only ventured a short way up the road ( two hours) and found our final stop for this section Dean West.
Interesting fact: Vehicles in the UK are not allowed to have bull bars fitted. There are very few 4WDs here and those we have seen, look rather naked without one.
See you in the Isle of Wight.
Until next time,
N
Previously, after our hasty getaway from Hull, we journeyed due south with the destination of a Dover planned. Stopping at Cambridge for a spot of breakfast, we again found this city to be busy, with little appeal. After a quick bite to eat and drive around the city, we found our way out and ventured to Dover. Famous for its white cliffs and Dover castle, this hilly village is larger than you expect. Filled with rows and rows of hotels, B&Bs, hostels and eateries, there is no shortage of accommodation for the thousands of tourists that descend on this place each year. We spent the afternoon strolling over and beside the cliffs, admiring the natural beauty before us. Daryl was momentarily distracted by a couple of young women, who were as close to naked as possible, one wearing a shift like dress that was completely see-through and she had no underclothes on. The other taking photos, was dressed to provoke a reaction, and clearly was pleased with her own form. Standing very close to the edge they were at risk of slipping as they went to great pains to perfect the pose. Wow, is all I can say. To have this much confidence leaves me a little envious.
Now that I have digressed let me return to the main part of our trip. The cliffs on both sides of the village shroud the shipping port providing sea crossings to France and return 23 hours a day. Logistically this port is a work of art, and watching from overhead provides a magnificent view of the hundreds of lorries, cars, motorbikes, the odd camper van and pedestrians who make this journey. A bit like watching worker bees, it’s mesmerising. We toyed with the idea of jumping on board and having a cuppa in France but decided our schedule was tight enough as it was, without adding another country to the mix. So maybe next time and probably via the tunnel, which seems to tweak Daryl’s interest more than the ferry.
The white cliffs of Dover reach a height of 110 metres and stretch for 16 kilometres and while their appearances is a stunning white, due the chalk, a soft white, very finely grained pure limestone, they hold a dark history. According to a researcher/author Tom Hunt ( no relative that we know of)who wrote Cliffs of Despair - A journey into Suicide’s Edge, more than 500 people have died since 1965, making it one of the most notorious suicide spots in the world. Other deaths have been attributed to accidents - tourists trying to get the greatest photo, slipping rocks, crumbling edges, drug affected party-goers, and the not so accidental like murder and others that are unexplainable. There are no safety railings on the tracks, and I found myself concentrating on my footing each step of the way. I also kept a tight hand in Daryl’s, when possible, to stop him from peering too closely over the edge, it makes me anxious. Despite the sadness that underpins the history of this place, it is indeed beautiful and worth a visit if ever you can.
The rest of our evening was taken up with long conversations with the call centre of the country’s Telco EE. A lovely girl from Londonderry, answered my call and I had to listen hard to understand her strong Irish accent. We had decided early in trip to get local SIM cards, which to this point have served us well, topping them up has been a minor issue as well as getting the ability to call international, which is becoming It seemed we had it all sorted but yesterday Daryl’s phone simply stopped working. Frustrating yes. He has now tried to call them to fix it but the message states he needs to put on credit to speak to technical support!! We did this yesterday and it has all vanished.
Despite these frustrations, making us feel like we are indeed back home talking to Telstra, we have little to complain about.
We debated about the value in visiting Dover Castle but in the end we went, and it proved to be a good decision. Considered one of the most iconic castles in the UK ( mind you they all say this) it is indeed commanding. The castle is perched high above the English channel and was started in 1168 by Henry II on the site of ramparts that were already some 1000 years old. The exhibits are many and varied and show a colourful and brutal history. It is well maintained and the evolvement of the current castle is quite outstanding. It still boasts the Great Tower and if you walk several hundred steps up a spiral staircase you are rewarded with some spectacular views across the country and then the English channel all the way to France. We visited the underground tunnels, cool and dark, it was quite a challenge walking the miles and miles of walkways that traverse underground (at least it seemed that far to me!) Thankfully the Heritage Trust, who maintains this site, provide a quirky little train to get weary tourists up and down the steep terrain. The train has two little carriages designed to match the attached Land Rover. Originally built to take tourists around Stonehenge, the designers miscalculated and it was deemed too wide for the tracks, hence the castle was the gifted the train. Bonus for us and the many others who enjoyed a tour around the grounds. After enjoying morning tea, priced as steeply as the roads, we decided it was time to make our own tracks.
Daryl had been doing a little research and found an article about a small town called Rye. Described as a hidden gem along England’s south coast we decided this would be our next stop. The drive, only a relatively short one, was extended thanks to Daryl’s ever growing obsession with avoiding the motorways. While I agree with him that they are dull, requiring a lot of concentration due to the speed freaks and ignorant lane changers, with little to no view of the area as you zoom pass, the back roads are also challenging. Our GPS speaker must shake her head, every time Daryl decides to take an alternate route. In the end we drove along miles of narrow laned roads, winding through the countryside, flagged on each side by hedges more than three metres in height. Couldn’t see a dammed thing and we added additional time to our already extensive travels. Fortunately, I sleep in the car and so I have now slept my way through substantial portions of the UK and Ireland and avoided many potential arguments as Daryl and his GPS meander through the countryside. Generally, however, I will wake promptly as Daryl tries to negotiate some of the roundabouts in the towns. Clearly they love them, roundabouts vary in shape and form, some are essentially a painted white circle on the road through to large ones, filled with trees, so you can’t see anything and some have as many as 5-7 exits, multiple lanes to enter and exit from and little warning for the nervous foreigner. They are everywhere. I have shared this roundabout experience on a number of occasions and we have both been known to go around the roundabout a few times before getting it right.
Daryl drives our poor little Citroen wishing it was an Aston Martin or Jaguar, zipping along like a race driver. There are so many of them here, Daryl is drooling and wondering what we can sell so he can send one home. It appears his preference is for the Aston but will settle for a Jag if the price is right. He has also talked about doing a package deal and sending a Land Rover home for the farm! I suspect the sea air is getting to him.
Rye, as it turns out, is an antique mecca with shops lining the streets, along with patisseries, ice creameries, cafes, book stores and so much more, many along cobblestone streets that are precarious to walk on. Old fashioned florists, butchers, bakeries and green grocers replace the large corporate shopping centres, it really is delightful. Time passed quickly and we walked away with a few trinkets that will hopefully make the flight home. Although to be honest, I am not sure how, another suitcase may be required. Antiques in the UK are cheap in comparison to home. What we pay for real antiques makes you squirm once you realise how common they are here. So on that vein, I have scheduled us into attend an English antique auction in a few days, once we arrive in Wales. Who knows what goodies we might bid for, once the adrenaline gets going!
Worn out, from too much sun, too much walking and too much driving, we only ventured a short way up the road ( two hours) and found our final stop for this section Dean West.
Interesting fact: Vehicles in the UK are not allowed to have bull bars fitted. There are very few 4WDs here and those we have seen, look rather naked without one.
See you in the Isle of Wight.
Until next time,
N
Friday, 12 July 2019
To Hull and beyond
Lessons learnt along this journey have been quite a few, but none so vivid as the old adage “you get what you pay for”. This was certainly the case in the city of Hull. Think broncs, commission housing at its worst with barred windows and padlocks for decoration. Weary from travelling and in need of a laundry, we pulled up in beautiful Beverley, a village along the east coast of England, but unfortunately they had nothing to suit us, it was already past six o’clock so the next larger town of Hull was on the radar. Uneasy about this decision, after fellow travellers advised us against going to Hull earlier in the day, we went ahead after finding a hotel with washing facilities and a very cheap rate.
Accommodation in Britain is very expensive and their ratings, as we have discovered is different to ours. As we drove into Hull, the hairs on my arms started to rise and we both looked with concern to the groups of people hanging about outside liquor stores and bars. Multiple high-rise housing blocks loomed before us and we realised our accommodation was next door. Steel fences with spikes surrounded the building and broken glass provided more security at ground level. With little choice we alighted from the car to be greeted by a bald headed bloke wearing daggy black tracksuits pants, a black oversized jumper and thongs. He asked if we were checking in and after reluctantly answering him, clearly giving him some non-verbal cues that I didn’t trust him, he assured us he was the hotel manager. Stating he would escort us to our room, I was immediately suspicious. Anyhow, we made it unscathed and entered the smallest room on the planet, only marginally larger than our car ( it’s a tiny Citroen). The en-suite had the pungent odour of mould, which we found in the cupboard under the sink, mixed with the scent of rotting timbers, ineffectively masked by silastic. The toilet was so close to the shower that you had to sit sideways in order to use it. The shower door was broken and the bed was a disaster.
We found the laundry and we have now shrunk just about everything we washed with the dryer set at about 800 degrees. Using our time to plan, our escape, and travels further down the line, we finally got some light sleep, jerking awake every time someone yelled or at one point did a bit of a war cry outside the window. The view outside our window showed the clever design of large glass fragments imbedded into the concrete wall, to prevent unwelcome guests. At about 5 am we gave up, got up and left. The further we drove the better we both felt. I shall be leaving a very special review once I’ve recovered from the trauma.
Prior to our poor decision to stay in Hull we did enjoy a lovely stay at York. At the complete other end of the spectrum the B&B we stayed at was just delightful, centrally located to the city, we have nothing but praise for the establishment. We spent a full day playing tourist in York and thoroughly enjoyed what it had to offer. The on-off bus provided a good base to travel the city and the commentary was amusing as well as informative. With 20 stops we managed to get a good look at most of the highlights, despite the drizzly rain.
York is a walled city in northeast England that was founded by the Romans with its history dating back to 71 AD. It really is like stepping back in time, with many of its medieval features still standing today. Once called Jorvick, York was once the capital of Viking territory. We learnt that the vikings did not, in fact, wear horns on their helmets and this myth was made up some two hundred years ago by an enthusiastic storyteller to add more character. A superstitious town you will also find white cements cats, atop window ledges randomly placed around town, for good luck. We saw a few, and also found a black one - not sure about the significance of this one. They also have the famous church with two doors, one to enter and one that remained open to ensure the devil could leave when children were being baptised. Known as the devil’s door it would never be used by any members of the congregation. Going with the theme of superstition large gargoyles can still be seen along the gates to the city, to keep out bad spirits. The city gates were also keen to send a message to any potential tractors to the crown so those convicted such crimes would be beheaded, the head then rolled in tar and then mounted on spikes above the entry. The most famous of note is King Henry VI on the orders of Queen Margaret. On the topic of dying, York was also the last city to host hangings at what is now the York racecourse. Notorious highwayman Richard Turpin was executed in 1739. His hanging is said to have brought thousands to the city to watch his death. He was not popular until he was ent to the gallows.
As we travelled around we also noted many windows that had been bricked over and remain that way today. We were told that the saying “daylight robbery” may have been born here, after a tax was placed on households, dependant on the number of windows people had in their home, so in order to save costs, people bricked them over. While York’s history is as gruesome as any other English city, it does have some quirky features like boasting the smallest house in England and the shortest street with the longest name. Whip-ma-whop-ma-gate is the name of the street with only three ‘houses’ numbered 1,1A, 1 1/2. It also boast the Shambles - a quaint row of shops where history states that the distance between buildings, at its narrowest point, on the upstairs level, allowed people to shake hands across the lane from their windows. It once boasted 25 butchers shops, but now none remain. The street was named in the Doomsday book of 1086. The street is now targeted at the tourist industry with a myriad of shops and an outdoor market, in amongst a range of pubs, restaurants and cafes.
We also visited the York museum which depicted life from bygone days - dark, dirty and difficult. An intriguing display but not as addictive as the York National Railway museum. This was, by far, Daryl’s favourite stop. This museum is the largest of its kind in the world and houses iconic locomotives such as the Mallard, the world’s fastest steam locomotive, the Japanese bullet train, various royal carriages, and so much more. York also hosts a number of antique stores and Daryl found his second love, antique clocks. So many, much cheaper than Australia. If he could send them home I have no doubt he would have, some of them are indeed works or art. Hundreds of years old and still ticking in perfect time. York did not disappoint in the pub scene and we enjoyed their unique hospitality once again.
Moving on from York, we coasted towards South England via Whitby and Robin Hood’s Bay, towards Cambridge. Whitby greeted us with thousands of other tourists pounding the pavement towards any seaside activity. We struggled to find a spot for lunch and found the place to have little appeal in comparison to our seaside resorts. Deciding we should do something while here, we hopped on a questionable bay cruise run by a chain smoking elderly gent and his pirate friends. This was enjoyable although, without any audio telling us what we were looking at, it was a bit difficult.
Whitby is famous for being the inspiration for the creation of Dracula and Captain Cook also once lived here. With the parking meter ticking we decided it was time to move on and made our way to Robin Hoods Bay. This very steep, confined, waterfront village, boasts grey sand and very low tide with some impressive cliffs. The streets are so narrow you cannot get a car to the beach and must walk several hundred steps. Lined with all manner of B&Bs, cafes and gift shops it is quite delightful, Except for the smell of seaweed and midgies flying in your face. I did score a gluten free scone, which was rather nice. By the way their is no historical connection with the infamous Robin Hood and the village!
Scarborough was another disappointment with gritty grey mud for sand and lots of arcade centres, clearly designed for the family groups who flock to the area in summer. We left after a quick look around and made our sorry way to Hull.
Quirky fact: in the UK it is illegal to have a white reflector on the back of vehicles, so you will notice that all vehicles have a white number plate at the front and a yellow one at the back!
Until next time,
N
Tuesday, 9 July 2019
528 hours as a tourist
Architecturally the city of York is exceptional, musically the downtown karaoke is debatable, hovering between woeful and bearable; but all credit to them for being confident enough to get up behind the microphone. So, to the sounds of Bon Jovi’s “Always” being massacred Daryl and I enjoy good local pub fare and then played a ‘friendly’ game of two-handed Patience. I’d never played, Daryl tried to cheat, I threw the cards, in the end the score was Daryl two down to my three wins. A walk home, on this beautiful cool night, was highlighted by the slurring drunk guy who stumbled passed us, the other drunk guy who spat on the concrete while trying to balance on the pub wall and the other drunk guy, blubbering his woes into his phone and then spectacularly snorting all over the footpath we were about to walk over. It took a whole lot of control not to gag. Grabbing Daryl’s hand extra tight we walked briskly. Two blocks later we were back in stunning York and at our inner city accommodation at St.Mary’s - a little luxury for the next two nights.
We arrived in York this afternoon after unexpectedly spending two days in the Lakes District. What a place! Discovering more to do than our original time allocation ( which is hazy at the best of times) we camped in a rather tiny attic room ( with the bathroom two floors away!) Turns out ‘private bathroom’ does not equate to en-suite. Intrepid tourists lesson number 437.
Before we left so many people said “ head to the Lakes District” and I am so glad we did. My main aim was to visit the Beatrix Potter exhibition and her house, so we did this and so much more. Beatrix Potter was a favourite of mine when raising my children and I loved reading them any one of her 23 stories. Her colourful tales hold long, happy memories and I was delighted when we ventured into the exhibition. Stunning displays retold the stories she wrote and illustrated along with her life story. Born in 1866 she is famous for her “ little books” and Peter Rabbit, published in 1902, is by far her most famous. The exhibition draws hundreds of visitors a day and I suspect the maintenance is pricey, queues are long and parking is non existent, so there were some challenges just finding the place. Disturbingly, we watched a number of tourists ‘cheat’ the admissions staff to save themselves the miserly £7.50 each to enter. They pushed passed other visitors and generally were rude and inconsiderate. This behaviour has been commented on by others and seen many times exacerbated by the constant stream of tourist buses loaded with predominantly Asians.
Beatrix Potter’s home on the Hill Top has been carefully restored and maintained by the National Trust to whom Potter bequeathed 15 farms and over 4000 acres of land upon her death. The bequeath now forms part of the Lakes District World Heritage Site. Her home which we were fortunate enough to tour, before the crazy crowds arrived, contains many original possessions and works from her life there. It is quite amazing that it still stands so strong today after the original foundations and walls of the home were built in the 17th century. We enjoyed a tour of the home and then wandered the gardens where she herself would have wandered many lifetimes ago. Enjoying some Damson flavoured home made ice cream on a wooden bench, it was a moment of stillness and reflection amid our chaotic schedule.
Leaving here, we discovered an alternate route around the lake, via ferry taking us back to Bowness instead of navigating the narrow windy back roads as we did on the way up. After successfully getting lost, we finally found the ferry and boarded for a four minute trip over the Lake, much more pleasant than the hour it took us, following a tour bus, on the first leg.
Smooth sailing was the order of the day and after parking (a far distance away) we returned to the terminal to board a Lakeside cruise from Bowness to Lakeside. From here we disembarked and boarded the iconic steam train ‘Repulse’ for a short journey to Haverthwaite station. Lovingly restored and maintained the steam locomotives run tours along the steeply graded former Furness Railway branch line to the southern tip of Windermere. The journey was relaxed and Daryl, insisting on putting his head out the door window, managed to get his hair sprinkled with soot from the funnel. Once again , the return trip saw us get directly back on another cruise boat to return to Bowness. By this time we were nearly sure our parking ticket would expire but we hoped the parking meter man would be delayed. The sailing across the lake was again smooth and provided spectacular views of the majestic homes and mountains that protect them and provide a picturesque background for the Lake. The air had chilled and it was nice to find a seat out of the wind. Sadly, as we prepared to disembark we heard the announcement calling for anyone with medical background to attend the back of the boat; someone was unconscious and their loved ones were clearly distressed. I’m not sure of the outcome but hope all ended well for them. Our parking dilemma did not. Daryl bolted back as quickly as he could but missed our cut off by 15 minutes and our penalty notice was firmly secured to the hire car window. Another opportunity to support the local economy. I felt our shopping in the local stores, bars and restaurants was sufficient support but clearly not! Welcome to England!
It seems such a long time ago since we left Scotland but really it’s only two days. After our travels finished in the northern highlands we travelled south and found our way to Edinburgh. Arriving late we drove up to our accommodation ( very much budget) and wondered what on earth we had booked. Despite our initial reservations we found a welcoming reception, avoided the local louts at the bar and discovered our room to be simple but sufficient. Wanting to enjoy a little local culture we ended up at the Jolly Botanist - a quirky, charming pub with fabulous food, and also happened to specialise in Gins. With music from our generation blasting from the speakers we settled in and patted ourselves on the back for such a good find. A pleasant stroll home allowed us to walk off the food, sober up a little and not get lost.
The next morning we were rudely dragged back to reality and I found myself in the Central Library of Edinburgh ( I now have a membership) tapping away, dealing with issues from home which I couldn’t do from my phone. What a building. Apart from the incredible amount of materials here, the history and the architecture is mind blowing. I could have stayed all day except for two tiny issues - one the cranky library lady who wouldn’t extend my computer time passed two hours and the fact that Daryl was wandering unchaperoned in Edinburgh city. Oh, and we were meant to be on holidays, not working in a foreign library. In my absence Daryl had walked and walked and walked ( he got lost) discovering many treasures we now needed to explore.
First stop was Edinburgh castle which stands at the top of the Royal Mile, at the west end of the Old Town and is believed to have been established, ( in a more crude manner) as early as the 12th century. Over the centuries it has been modified, improved and developed as required dependent on the battles at hand. It is still used today for military purposes and opens its doors to some two millions visitors a year. Naturally it was raining as we toured and the Scottish wind had followed us. Wearing only a thin T-shirt our pace was brisk as possible given the hilly nature of the castle layout. Cold and wet we returned to our accommodation to the sight of a police car and divvy van outside reception. Inside was a local lout who I suspect sampled too much of the local ale. Having been given the all clear to return to the hotel, we watched with interest from the bar as it took four officers to assist him from the vehicle into the back of the van.
The next day saw me back at the library for a short time before continuing our exploration of Edinburgh. The previous day, we found a laundry service and now had some clean clothes, which is a bonus when travelling. We located the cafe that is now famous for hosting JK Rowling while writing her Harry Potter novel. This unassuming little cafe boasts a small plaque commemorating the significance, otherwise if you are not looking carefully you might miss it. Of more interest to me was the Writers museum which is dedicated to the lives and works of three of Scotland’s best known writers: Robert Burns, Sir Walter Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson. An exquisite display of works, memorabilia from their era and life’s work. Daryl rested his weary feet while I made my way through the three levels of displays. Continuing on with our theme of ‘all that is old and interesting’ we ventured into another National Trust treasure, one of the oldest homes on the Royal mile. With steep staircases and tiny rooms, it is amazing how people lived in such conditions, as this was in the wealthy section. Our two volunteer guides were a wealth of information telling us intricate tales of life in the Scottish city along with its the deals and devious schemes of some men to ensure entry into the privileged circles. Practices such as manipulating and marrying for prestige, being a witch pricker and ruthless businessman is little different to the antics of modern day folk ( apart from the witch bit). In order to earn good money, influential men could be authorised ‘witch pickers’ and went about pricking womens moles to see if they bled - having a mole or birth mark was the first sign you were a possible witch and enough reason to warrant further investigation. These rather crude practices would have sent many innocents to the stake.
We wandered much of Edinburgh city enjoying its cobblestoned streets, and quaint little shops that boarder its many one way roads but time was ticking and we had a date with the Royal Yacht Britannia. Whether you are a royalist or republican, this ship is worth the visit. The design, the history and the family she carried cannot help but peak your interest. Faithfully maintained by a voluntary crew, she is a beautiful vessel. We meandered our way slowly from deck to deck, enjoying lunch in the newest addition to Britannia, an enclosed dining room, before purchasing a few souvenirs and gifts.
Our plan was to cross the English border after our yachting adventure but time had again gotten away, and we predicted correctly that this would not be the case. Daryl was keen to visit some distant relatives, on his mother’s side, so we found our way to a tiny region of Peebles in the southern Scottish countryside. Having no way to contact them, this was going to be a surprise and what a pleasant time we had. Roy and Celia welcomed us as if we were long friends. Before we knew it a couple of hours had gone over shared tea and stories and it was well past time to make tracks. This leaving took another hour as we enjoyed a tour of their home the former “olde school” which they purchased some 30 years before, after the government of the day closed it down a few years prior. Left to ruin the couple, uprooted their lives in England and took on a Scottish way of life with the challenge of some major DIY. Restored and converted it into a majestic home from a two classroom old school house, this is a work of passion. This home could easily be a feature on Escape to the Country. I’d hate to have their heating bill, but their home is a renovators envy in every sense of the word.
Now into early evening, we were left with the dilemma of where to stay, England was too far away, even for us, and so finding a bed proved to be a little challenging. Travelling through a few little country towns we came upon a gorgeous town called Biggar - picturesque with grand buildings, quaint garden beds overflowing with colour, this place was worth a stop. Finding another pub we sat down with a drink, ordered a homely meal and Daryl spent the next half an hour running from one hotel/pub to another looking for a room but with no prospects, the place was booked out. We reverted to Google and found ourselves a place in the next town on, Moffatt. While we scrambled for a bed and shower, a young couple sat on the adjoining table. Within seconds of them opening their mouths we recognised the Australian accent. Exchanging some travel tips we laughed at their decision to sit near us so they could hear our accents only to discover it was as dry as their own. Covered in tattoos piercings and a trendy haircut the girl was the friendliest person and eagerly asked for advice as they were heading to Edinburgh where we had just left. Her partner, with a head full of dreadlocks shared our idea to trip around the country with minimal planning in place. They had just competed a flying visit to France and Belgium, driving and stopping in a range of unique destinations. People laughed at them, advising them they had planes to do such a journey. Apart from the price of fuel, this is still proving to be the best way to get around Britain.
Our journey from Scotland took in Dumfries farmers market and Carlisle castle infamous for keeping Mary Queen of Scott’s a prisoner for 20 years before beheading her! Some where in this adventure we did stop at a whiskey distillery Dalwhinnie, near Perth. Neither of us drink whiskey but it seemed the thing to do if in Scotland. We are still not fans of whiskey and while prices ranged into the thousands, we found the a standard bottle selling at the distillery for around £48 in the local supermarket for a bargain £35. It is still on the shelf. We will stick to gin and cider and the odd cocktail to wet our appetites.
England is damp and looking out the window today it is trying to rain. The overcast skies will prevent any chance of sunburn ( haha not possible so far) as we take in all the delights York has to offer.
Until next time,
N
We arrived in York this afternoon after unexpectedly spending two days in the Lakes District. What a place! Discovering more to do than our original time allocation ( which is hazy at the best of times) we camped in a rather tiny attic room ( with the bathroom two floors away!) Turns out ‘private bathroom’ does not equate to en-suite. Intrepid tourists lesson number 437.
Before we left so many people said “ head to the Lakes District” and I am so glad we did. My main aim was to visit the Beatrix Potter exhibition and her house, so we did this and so much more. Beatrix Potter was a favourite of mine when raising my children and I loved reading them any one of her 23 stories. Her colourful tales hold long, happy memories and I was delighted when we ventured into the exhibition. Stunning displays retold the stories she wrote and illustrated along with her life story. Born in 1866 she is famous for her “ little books” and Peter Rabbit, published in 1902, is by far her most famous. The exhibition draws hundreds of visitors a day and I suspect the maintenance is pricey, queues are long and parking is non existent, so there were some challenges just finding the place. Disturbingly, we watched a number of tourists ‘cheat’ the admissions staff to save themselves the miserly £7.50 each to enter. They pushed passed other visitors and generally were rude and inconsiderate. This behaviour has been commented on by others and seen many times exacerbated by the constant stream of tourist buses loaded with predominantly Asians.
Beatrix Potter’s home on the Hill Top has been carefully restored and maintained by the National Trust to whom Potter bequeathed 15 farms and over 4000 acres of land upon her death. The bequeath now forms part of the Lakes District World Heritage Site. Her home which we were fortunate enough to tour, before the crazy crowds arrived, contains many original possessions and works from her life there. It is quite amazing that it still stands so strong today after the original foundations and walls of the home were built in the 17th century. We enjoyed a tour of the home and then wandered the gardens where she herself would have wandered many lifetimes ago. Enjoying some Damson flavoured home made ice cream on a wooden bench, it was a moment of stillness and reflection amid our chaotic schedule.
Leaving here, we discovered an alternate route around the lake, via ferry taking us back to Bowness instead of navigating the narrow windy back roads as we did on the way up. After successfully getting lost, we finally found the ferry and boarded for a four minute trip over the Lake, much more pleasant than the hour it took us, following a tour bus, on the first leg.
Smooth sailing was the order of the day and after parking (a far distance away) we returned to the terminal to board a Lakeside cruise from Bowness to Lakeside. From here we disembarked and boarded the iconic steam train ‘Repulse’ for a short journey to Haverthwaite station. Lovingly restored and maintained the steam locomotives run tours along the steeply graded former Furness Railway branch line to the southern tip of Windermere. The journey was relaxed and Daryl, insisting on putting his head out the door window, managed to get his hair sprinkled with soot from the funnel. Once again , the return trip saw us get directly back on another cruise boat to return to Bowness. By this time we were nearly sure our parking ticket would expire but we hoped the parking meter man would be delayed. The sailing across the lake was again smooth and provided spectacular views of the majestic homes and mountains that protect them and provide a picturesque background for the Lake. The air had chilled and it was nice to find a seat out of the wind. Sadly, as we prepared to disembark we heard the announcement calling for anyone with medical background to attend the back of the boat; someone was unconscious and their loved ones were clearly distressed. I’m not sure of the outcome but hope all ended well for them. Our parking dilemma did not. Daryl bolted back as quickly as he could but missed our cut off by 15 minutes and our penalty notice was firmly secured to the hire car window. Another opportunity to support the local economy. I felt our shopping in the local stores, bars and restaurants was sufficient support but clearly not! Welcome to England!
It seems such a long time ago since we left Scotland but really it’s only two days. After our travels finished in the northern highlands we travelled south and found our way to Edinburgh. Arriving late we drove up to our accommodation ( very much budget) and wondered what on earth we had booked. Despite our initial reservations we found a welcoming reception, avoided the local louts at the bar and discovered our room to be simple but sufficient. Wanting to enjoy a little local culture we ended up at the Jolly Botanist - a quirky, charming pub with fabulous food, and also happened to specialise in Gins. With music from our generation blasting from the speakers we settled in and patted ourselves on the back for such a good find. A pleasant stroll home allowed us to walk off the food, sober up a little and not get lost.
The next morning we were rudely dragged back to reality and I found myself in the Central Library of Edinburgh ( I now have a membership) tapping away, dealing with issues from home which I couldn’t do from my phone. What a building. Apart from the incredible amount of materials here, the history and the architecture is mind blowing. I could have stayed all day except for two tiny issues - one the cranky library lady who wouldn’t extend my computer time passed two hours and the fact that Daryl was wandering unchaperoned in Edinburgh city. Oh, and we were meant to be on holidays, not working in a foreign library. In my absence Daryl had walked and walked and walked ( he got lost) discovering many treasures we now needed to explore.
First stop was Edinburgh castle which stands at the top of the Royal Mile, at the west end of the Old Town and is believed to have been established, ( in a more crude manner) as early as the 12th century. Over the centuries it has been modified, improved and developed as required dependent on the battles at hand. It is still used today for military purposes and opens its doors to some two millions visitors a year. Naturally it was raining as we toured and the Scottish wind had followed us. Wearing only a thin T-shirt our pace was brisk as possible given the hilly nature of the castle layout. Cold and wet we returned to our accommodation to the sight of a police car and divvy van outside reception. Inside was a local lout who I suspect sampled too much of the local ale. Having been given the all clear to return to the hotel, we watched with interest from the bar as it took four officers to assist him from the vehicle into the back of the van.
The next day saw me back at the library for a short time before continuing our exploration of Edinburgh. The previous day, we found a laundry service and now had some clean clothes, which is a bonus when travelling. We located the cafe that is now famous for hosting JK Rowling while writing her Harry Potter novel. This unassuming little cafe boasts a small plaque commemorating the significance, otherwise if you are not looking carefully you might miss it. Of more interest to me was the Writers museum which is dedicated to the lives and works of three of Scotland’s best known writers: Robert Burns, Sir Walter Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson. An exquisite display of works, memorabilia from their era and life’s work. Daryl rested his weary feet while I made my way through the three levels of displays. Continuing on with our theme of ‘all that is old and interesting’ we ventured into another National Trust treasure, one of the oldest homes on the Royal mile. With steep staircases and tiny rooms, it is amazing how people lived in such conditions, as this was in the wealthy section. Our two volunteer guides were a wealth of information telling us intricate tales of life in the Scottish city along with its the deals and devious schemes of some men to ensure entry into the privileged circles. Practices such as manipulating and marrying for prestige, being a witch pricker and ruthless businessman is little different to the antics of modern day folk ( apart from the witch bit). In order to earn good money, influential men could be authorised ‘witch pickers’ and went about pricking womens moles to see if they bled - having a mole or birth mark was the first sign you were a possible witch and enough reason to warrant further investigation. These rather crude practices would have sent many innocents to the stake.
We wandered much of Edinburgh city enjoying its cobblestoned streets, and quaint little shops that boarder its many one way roads but time was ticking and we had a date with the Royal Yacht Britannia. Whether you are a royalist or republican, this ship is worth the visit. The design, the history and the family she carried cannot help but peak your interest. Faithfully maintained by a voluntary crew, she is a beautiful vessel. We meandered our way slowly from deck to deck, enjoying lunch in the newest addition to Britannia, an enclosed dining room, before purchasing a few souvenirs and gifts.
Our plan was to cross the English border after our yachting adventure but time had again gotten away, and we predicted correctly that this would not be the case. Daryl was keen to visit some distant relatives, on his mother’s side, so we found our way to a tiny region of Peebles in the southern Scottish countryside. Having no way to contact them, this was going to be a surprise and what a pleasant time we had. Roy and Celia welcomed us as if we were long friends. Before we knew it a couple of hours had gone over shared tea and stories and it was well past time to make tracks. This leaving took another hour as we enjoyed a tour of their home the former “olde school” which they purchased some 30 years before, after the government of the day closed it down a few years prior. Left to ruin the couple, uprooted their lives in England and took on a Scottish way of life with the challenge of some major DIY. Restored and converted it into a majestic home from a two classroom old school house, this is a work of passion. This home could easily be a feature on Escape to the Country. I’d hate to have their heating bill, but their home is a renovators envy in every sense of the word.
Now into early evening, we were left with the dilemma of where to stay, England was too far away, even for us, and so finding a bed proved to be a little challenging. Travelling through a few little country towns we came upon a gorgeous town called Biggar - picturesque with grand buildings, quaint garden beds overflowing with colour, this place was worth a stop. Finding another pub we sat down with a drink, ordered a homely meal and Daryl spent the next half an hour running from one hotel/pub to another looking for a room but with no prospects, the place was booked out. We reverted to Google and found ourselves a place in the next town on, Moffatt. While we scrambled for a bed and shower, a young couple sat on the adjoining table. Within seconds of them opening their mouths we recognised the Australian accent. Exchanging some travel tips we laughed at their decision to sit near us so they could hear our accents only to discover it was as dry as their own. Covered in tattoos piercings and a trendy haircut the girl was the friendliest person and eagerly asked for advice as they were heading to Edinburgh where we had just left. Her partner, with a head full of dreadlocks shared our idea to trip around the country with minimal planning in place. They had just competed a flying visit to France and Belgium, driving and stopping in a range of unique destinations. People laughed at them, advising them they had planes to do such a journey. Apart from the price of fuel, this is still proving to be the best way to get around Britain.
Our journey from Scotland took in Dumfries farmers market and Carlisle castle infamous for keeping Mary Queen of Scott’s a prisoner for 20 years before beheading her! Some where in this adventure we did stop at a whiskey distillery Dalwhinnie, near Perth. Neither of us drink whiskey but it seemed the thing to do if in Scotland. We are still not fans of whiskey and while prices ranged into the thousands, we found the a standard bottle selling at the distillery for around £48 in the local supermarket for a bargain £35. It is still on the shelf. We will stick to gin and cider and the odd cocktail to wet our appetites.
England is damp and looking out the window today it is trying to rain. The overcast skies will prevent any chance of sunburn ( haha not possible so far) as we take in all the delights York has to offer.
Until next time,
N
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