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

Roaming sheep, sheer cliff faces and other tales from Scotland’s enduring coastline

I understand why the Scottish drink whiskey ( or in my case Gin). It’s the roads, the drivers, the sheer cliff faces and the sheep that keep you white knuckled and on edge the whole time you take on the one lane “tourist tracks.”

Venturing up the north west coast of Scotland we shared the driving, choosing the scenic drives wherever possible, while these are shorter in distance they are longer in time due the windy nature of the roads, with steep inclines and descents in equal measure. Many sections feature the original stone walls, while a few patches have guard rails but in most instances there is a direct view to the bottom of the cliff face from the passengers side. This can be quite heart wrenching, and on more than one occasion the front tyre was barely on the roadside as Daryl gave way to oncoming traffic. Passing patches (car park size) are built into the mountainside, and I suspect many drivers, especially those owning Land Rovers use them as a rally track. I worry for the numerous cyclists, and there were plenty of them who pedal these mountains. They are at risk of collision at all times as there is no shoulder for them to escape traffic. Most drivers are patient but I must admit we met our fair share of ignorant drivers over the past few days who are clearly in a hurry (possibly to their graves).

Yesterday, we travelled to our first stop of Ullapool, where we found an antique shop, which was really a lot of junk and an inspiring gallery with collections of paintings unique to the area. We even enquired about sending some home, but decided against it after issues with shipping glass sounded to difficult. Another book store filled with wonderful temptations was found and on a tiny notice on the door I found the story of the “Hector” - a ship made famous for having been part of the first significant migration of Scottish settlers to Nova Scotia in 1773. A quirky fact for the children back home. In honour of the ship they have also produced a stout called the Hector! If only it was palatable we would bring some home. Enjoying a stroll by the water, we passed so many B&Bs and ended up at a tiny cove by which time we were chilled and in need of some munchies. Once satisfied with local sweet treats, we set off for Lochinver and found these terrific fishing streams, well maintained and set in the valleys on the way. The videos attached to the Facebook album has a recording of one of them. A little disappointed with the town, which in itself had little charm, we ignored the bookshop sign, in consideration of the narrow, windy roads and expectations that it was not worth the hassle. Really, who puts a book store in the middle of nowhere! However, the tummies were again rumbling and Daryl spotted a cafe specialising in homemade pies. This unassuming, narrow village redeemed itself with an amazing late lunch. Not only was the food delicious, but the staff were friendly and welcoming.
Continuing our drive through hamlets, via windy goat tracks, we dodged more sheep, cyclists and motor homes negotiating some very tricky hairpin bends and ended up in Scourie. Staying at another random B&B we were pleasantly surprised to drive up to a very stately homestead, restored to its former glory, overlooking the bay. Scourie Lodge was built in 1835 by the Duke of Sutherland for his new bride, however history tells us that she didn’t like it. The residence changed hands over the course of the years and a walled garden was established with many trees now aged more than 150 years. During the Second World War, the Lodge and gardens fell into ruins and it wasn’t until the mid 1970s that it was bought by a Swiss gentleman who spent a small fortune renovating and restoring Scourie Lodge. With prestigious views and a warm welcome it is well recommended to any traveller, taking on the whole or part of Scotland’s North Coast 500 ( the equivalent of the US Route 66).

Today we road-tripped to a tiny fishing hamlet of Kylesku and took on a sea journey on the “Rachael Clare” to experience the heart of the Highland from a different perspective. During our journey we saw the ‘Eas a Chual Aluinn’ the highest waterfalls in the UK, local seal colonies with their new pups and world famous geological sites, along with some of the most severe coastline you will see. The hour and half trip was shared with four other tourists, a couple from Spain and another from Edinburgh. We nearly didn’t make the trip as it was originally booked out. With our original plans to explore nearby Handa Island, by foot going pear shaped, thanks to the weather, we decided at the last minute to drive down to the ferry regardless and see if they had a spot. The weather forecast was poor with heavy cloud, poor visibility and rain predicted for the day. The forecasters were correct and as we were chatting to the booking people, a phone call came in cancelling a couple’s tour. I took this as good karma, while Daryl said it was probably like the Titanic where people who shouldn’t have got tickets did, and then perished! Obviously, I was correct on this occasion, otherwise you would not be reading this tale. Our guide James and his first mate Pete were friendly and full of information. James, originally from the south of England was so enamoured with the Scottish Highlands and exquisite fishing in the area he moved to the town of Scourie about 10 years ago. He now runs the local hotel and the boat cruises but no longer fishes. It is clear he is passionate about the history of the place and the conservation of the land. He shared stories of the hardship of landholders from years gone by as well as the current challenges facing residents today. Their biggest problem is the control of red deer, who though beautiful to look at, are depleting the landscape of any trees and vegetation. Fishing it seems is a rich man’s sport now, and the cost of participating is high.

Last night we had dinner at the local hotel, which turns out to be the elite fisherman’s hotel. Apparently no televisions are needed in this establishment as ‘real fisherman’ have no requirement of one. So, instead, large trophies line the walls of the hotel along with an array of fishing paraphernalia. We enjoyed a lovely dinner, Daryl sampled their fresh scallops ( delicious I’m assured) while I had the Salmon. This was well enjoyed after another long day travelling and touring the coast from the Isle of Skye to our Scourie B&B. After dinner we explored the coastline, including a tiny stretch of sand, not commonly seen in this part of the world and the local cemetery. Well maintained, the cemetery is like reading a history book, with many of the gravestones providing information about family genealogy, careers, responsibilities in the community to means of death.

As previously mentioned we spent the day before exploring the Isle of Skye. Again the weather was unkind and several layers were needed anytime you stepped out of the car. However, we ignored the enduring rain and stopped frequently. Tiny villages, tourist filled streets and rugged coastline filled our day, along with a few ruins, gift shops, castles and churches. The history of these places is is outstanding, along with the brutality. The Isle of Skye, like so many other regions is the result of bloody wars and feuds between clans, governments of the day and the aristocracy. Again the depravity of humans and capacity to inflict cruelty on another person is pronounced with every castle visit we do. A stand out at Dunvegan castle was the use of a dungeon, located next to the kitchen, whereby ‘prisoners’ were placed in a deep hole and left to die by starvation. Set in pitch blackness, with no way out, the prisoner was tortured by the smells of cooking from the adjoining room with no ability to have any food or drink. A gruesome and cruel practice. No wonder there are so many historians in Britain.

Today’s journey sees us finish the north west coast with our final destination the lighthouse in Stoer, which, if ever we return, we can rent for a week and be pretend lighthouse keepers. Something to consider.
Strangely however, we needed to go back through Lochinver, and today decided we would tackle the windy, narrow roads and investigate this bookshop. Located about a mile up a goats track, is the Inverkarkaig bookstore and cafe! Was it worth the detour - probably not; did we buy things- off course, despite the cranky store keeper, who seemed more annoyed by his many visitors than pleased for their custom.

So it turns out in Scotland anywhere is a tourist destination action!

Back to the lighthouse. Stoer Head Lighthouse is one of 200 lighthouses located on the coastline of Scotland and is approximately 150 years old. Like all other lighthouses in Scotland it is now operated automatically. After freezing our butts ( Daryl was in shorts!!) admiring the view, and taking the obligatory photos, I had seen enough. The arctic wind that blows off the ocean hurts your brain after a while. Amazingly there was a quaint little coffee house called The Jammery on the way down from the cliffs. It is the tiniest cafe I have ever been in, but the warmth and generosity of the owners was worth the stop. Despite it being right on closing time, they welcomed us in and made lovely hot chocolates for us. Chatting away amicably, there was a sense of great achievement amongst the young owners, who having decided to settle in the coastal community, started their business three years ago. Essentially a room built near their house turned into a stopping point for tourists hankering for some caffeine and home baked treats. The coffee man explained they used to live in the bigger cities but said it was lonelier there, amongst hundreds of other people, than where they are now. He said now they lived in a community which includes the sheep with their lambs that graze freely on these coastal roads weaving in and out of peoples yards seeking fresh grass. He said the bonus is he never has to mow his lawn. Clearly the sheep are well fed, with round bellies, tags and robust babies following along, blissfully unafraid of the tourist traffic. It is clear who has right of way.

We have returned to our home for the second night and right now we are simply relaxing with a glass of wine on a comfy couch. The tv is off and our hosts Angus and Elisabeth, are most accommodating, even running to our rescue when we set the smoke alarm off trying to get the heater to work.

While Daryl plans tomorrow’s southerly expedition, I am tapping away, missing home and looking forward to the next part of our tour, all at the same time.

Until next time,
N

Journeying on the Jacobite in the Scottish Highlands

Sunday mornings are slow in Scotland. In fact for the parts of the UK we have seen, there is no cafe culture at breakfast time. Finding a place to get breakfast is akin to finding a needle in the haystack. When you do, you will be disappointed. They are quite bland and minimalistic. Some of the B&Bs do a better job, so if you’re in the area bear this in mind. Sunday morning saw us leave our accommodation early, no great loss that’s for sure. It was a grand old building located in a little town of Onich, near Fort William. With spectacular views of the water and mountains we were hopeful. We arrived late Saturday afternoon and we were greeted by the owner advising us that the power was out and therefore no electricity. Not sure what he thought we would say or do, so I simply said thanks and asked for our room key. He looked a little perplexed. Rooms are not numbered in logical sequence here, so room 19, our base or the night was located on the third floor at the end of the hall next to room 26. Did I mention there are no lifts, so we carried our 

worldly possessions over the creaking floorboards, locating the hole in the step about half way up, we were careful to avoid it on subsequent trips up and down those rickety stairs. I suspect it 

was only the worn tartan inspired carpet, that was stopping anyone falling through. The room was open and airy and on first glance seemed ok. Until you looked in the bathroom and noticed the lack of a shower. Instead, a bath was our only option. The creaking floors were a focus and 
we appreciated the thin walls late that night as our neighbours chose to have lengthy, loud and 

animated discussions in a language quite foreign to us. I am not even going to bore you with details of the bed!  The power returned at some stage while we were strolling through Fort William. 

We suspect the failure had been caused by a brief but dramatic storm that went through as we travelled from a Glasgow into the Hughlands. At the foot of the Highlands is a little town called Luss. If ever you have the opportunity to visit, do so. Known as the prettiest town in Scotland, it lives up to its name in spades. According to the Chief of Clan Colquhoun, Sir Malcolm Colquhoun 

“Loch Lomond is regarded as one of the most famous and recognisable place names on the planet. At its heart, the beautiful village of Luss, a place of sanctuary, pilgrimage and habitation for at least the last 1500 years”. Luss is home to about 450 residents and hundreds of visitors a day in the high season. The town was built in the 18th century and most people work in the slate quarries nearby. The view of the lake is stunning, hosting a huge range of water sports enthusiasts, plus is home to a vast range of wildlife, ducks in particular are fans of the visitors. 

The old church built in 1875 is much younger than its graveyard which dates back to the 7th century. There is notably an 11th century Viking hogback grave set amongst the many resting places in this historic site. Gravestones bear the stories of whole families drowned at sea, resting together over the past centuries. We enjoyed a quaint breakfast and contentedly watched the plethora of tourists go by. Of note, in Scotland is the practice of placing a large container of sauces on your table, no matter the meal you are having. See photos for one such container. Sauces in tiny plastic packets ( not very environmentally friendly) of many varieties including tomato, mayonnaise, brown, mustard, HP, and vinegar just to name a few is common practice. We did see a few tourists pocket a number of packets, obviously for later use.

At the storms worst we stopped at a tiny roadside cafe/bookstore in the middle of nowhere. By this stage the thunder rumbled with demand through the mountains flashing lightning at close intervals and pelting rain onto our windscreen. We were gladdened to enter a warm building, filled
with travellers and an empty table just for us. I happily sat there typing away on my blog while Daryl enjoyed scones with jam and cream. Books lined the walls, the hot chocolate was decadent and it was with some hesitation that I agreed it was time to get back in the car. 

Today, I worked out it is Sunday, (it is very hard to keep track of days) sees us journeying on the 

British railways heritage Jacobite locomotive 62005. Queuing up for tickets for an hour, in the rain, we are both relieved to have scored tickets. The seats book out months in advance but they save 20 tickets for tourists like us who wing it each day. Setting the alarm for 6.30 this morning we were second in line at the train centre, behind some very self-important Germans. Despite the pelting rain the staff did not open the doors early and Daryl ended up soaked to the skin from waiting ( I stayed to look after the car). We may need to purchase a new waterproof jacket. 

The Jacobite is described as the greatest railway journey in the world. The 84 mile round trip 

takes us past a list of impressive extremes. Starting near the highest mountain in Britain, Ben Nevis, it visits Britain’s most westerly mainland railway station, Arisaig, passes by the deepest 
freshwater loch in a Britain, Loch Morar and the shortest river River Morar, finally arriving at the deepest seawater loch in Europe, Loch Nevis. The train stops at Mallaig a village of Glenfinnan. 

We are currently and hour into our travels on the steam engine and the iconic sounds of the tracks can be heard along with the rattle of the old windows and the hoot of the whistle through the countryside. The seats are comfortable, old style with booths of four people. We have met new friends, a couple from Birmingham spending the long weekend in the Highlands. They shared with us stories of their short travels across Europe including destinations such as Germany and Italy as we might speak of a weekend to Melbourne. The rain is not as severe now and hopefully our view will improve, the foggy windows make it hard to enjoy the scenery. Our travel companions fortunately have a towel we share to wipe the windows down. The very fat sheep with their black faces scamper as the train rattles passed them, in the background the majestic Highland mountains stare down at us. 
Our stop in Glenfinnan was brief, with enough time to visit the West Highland Railway Museum after crossing the 21-arched viaduct (a location made famous in the Harry Potter films) which overlooks the Loch Shiel and the Jacobite monument. The cloud cover cleared and we were fortunate to get unobstructed views from our window. The Jacobite is now climbing the mountain and as he chugs up the track the pungent scent of coal sneaks into our window. Large boulders grow through the mountainside and I am at a loss how this land can be tamed.

Mallaig is a tiny fishing village that could be a tourist boom if it was so inclined, but from our observations, and we had two hours to observe, it has not taken up the opportunity to fleece the captive tourist market. Many shops were closed, not trading on a Sunday, despite hundreds of people arriving from travelling on the Jacobite journey, each and everyday. In fact there are two trips, a morning sitting followed by an evening trek. The cafes that were trading turned people 

away as fast as they welcomed them inside. On a cold, rainy day such as today, any food outlet did a roaring trade. After wandering around the village, including checking our the ferry to Isle of Skye, we eventually found a lovely cafe to enjoy some lunch. Delicious homemade food, followed by “hot” hot chocolate. Daryl had fish ( Haddock) with fresh cut chips (skins still on) and peas ( the traditional side of choice), while I had the soup. Just what we needed to thaw out from the Scottish summer chill!

Our travelling companions have rejoined us and it is lovely to have easy company, especially in a confined cabin area. Their trusty towel has been put to work and our window is the cleanest on the train. The rain has ceased and we are looking forward to enjoying the views on the return trip. The journey has been most pleasant, apart from the angry German woman who keeps slamming the carriage door closed; a little more force with each slam. The wet stuff also stayed away for the most part, except for the crossing of the viaduct for the second time, which Daryl has attempted to video. Off course it started to rain only a few minutes beforehand and the low cloud settled in around the mountains. We have kept the window open as much a possible, one to stop the window foggy up and also to annoy the angry German woman across the aisle. Now our table has a fine covering of soot and small fragments of coal. 

The train whistle is blowing, long and loud, we shall soon alight in Fort William and begin the next leg of our Scottish adventure. We have decided to drive to Isle of Skye. This will take us about two and half hours or more if we stop along the way, no doubt we will and with daylight staying with us until late into the evening, it is easy to lose track of time. 

Until next time,

N

Failte gu Alba (Welcome to Scotland)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time,

N

Northern Ireland - a land of contrasts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time,

N

More to Ireland than Guinness!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

U til next time,

N

From final farewells to the ancient buildings of Oxford

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

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

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

Ireland and all it has to offer is awaiting us.

Until next time
N