England Part 4: Our Final Few Weeks

Puffins, Roman Ruins & PhD’s

After leaving Scotland we drove a couple of hours south, across the border into Northumberland and through to the small village of Rothbury for the night. There was a traditional music festival that weekend and the town was humming. We joined the festival goers for a beer in the memorial park and although the main acts had finished for the day there were still a few musicians jamming.

 

The weather could not have been more perfect the next day for our trip to the Farne Islands. But before we got to Seahouses where the boats leave from we stopped off at Dunstanburgh Castle. We joined the National Trust earlier in our trip and once you pay your initial membership you get free entry into all the National Trust properties. There’s a great App that shows all the nearby sites and as we had an hour and a half to fill before our boat trip, and as Dunstanburgh Castle is National Trust, we thought we’d stop by and check it out. The castle ruins sit on a rocky outcrop along a beautiful stretch of coastline. It’s barren and windswept and quite extraordinary. This was once one of the largest and grandiose forts of Northern England and its presence still dominates the skyline.

 

Seahouses is a cute fishing town bustling with tourists many of whom are here for the same reason as us, to see puffins on the Farne Islands. The Farne Islands is a wildlife sanctuary just off the coast of Northumberland in the northeast of England. Looked after by the National Trust, there’s a charge to go on the islands for non-members in addition to the cost of the boat trip. Our boat took us out to the furthest islands first, motoring close into the cliffs where guillemots, razorbills and gulls were nesting and then out to rocks where a colony of grey seals spend most of their days.  The boat took us very close to the seals. They were wary but didn’t move away and some appeared to play up to the cameras. After our tour by sea we landed on Inner Farne island – the pièce de résistance! This was where the puffins nest. Here I was back in Wales thinking that the closest I’d get to a puffin was peering at a dot through the zoom in my camera. Well, on the Farne Islands there are over 80,000 breeding pairs of puffins an most are living on Little Farne. That’s more puffins than I ever hoped for.

 

Before we could get to the puffins we had to contend with dive-bombing artic terns who were keen to chase us from the island. We had been warned about this and told to wear hats – good advice indeed. Protecting ourselves from angry terns while at the same time trying to avoid stepping on their fluffy offspring, who seemed to be placed everywhere and anywhere, took some skill.

 

We spent an hour on the island watching puffins coming and going out of their burrows, waddling along the rocks, flying back to their chicks with beaks stuffed full of eels, and generally just doing puffin stuff. We were only a metre away from them at times and one even walked across the path in front of me. It was incredible. Of course, there were plenty of other birds as well: guillemots, razorbills, eider ducks, kittiwakes, fulmars, shags, and Arctic, common and sandwich terns. They’re all here sharing these islands for a few months a year and by mid-August the islands will be empty and quiet again, apart from rabbits and seals.

 

Back on the mainland we drove from coastal Northumberland to the hinterland of Cumbria to experience some Roman history – Housesteads Fort and Hadrian’s Wall.

 

Hadrian’s Wall ran from one side of England to the other and was built around 122 AD under the reign of the Emperor Hadrian as not only a defensive wall but an attempt at keeping peace. By clearly defining the northern border of the Roman Empire Hadrian hoped the warring tribes would be appeased and stop the continual conflicts that were draining Roman resources. Housesteads is one of 16 Roman forts along Hadrian’s Wall and the best preserved. It sits on the side of a hill and Hadrian’s wall runs up a steep valley to meet it before heading off in the opposite direction over the rolling hills towards the west. A few hikers went by while we were at the fort, walking the length of the wall from coast to coast. It was almost six by the time we’d done with fossicking around the fort and scrambling along the wall. We walked back across the farmland to the parking lot and drove on to the small market town of Alston for the night. Earlier in our trip we’d stayed in Buxton in the Peak District and now here we were in Alston. The two towns share the title of ‘highest market town in England’ as both are 1,000 feet above sea level. Hopefully that’s a pub quiz question one day.

 

The next day we set off on the long drive south to Malvern. My sister Bronya had arrived in the UK for her graduation from Exeter University, where she had completed a PhD remotely, and we were heading down to meet her at her parents-in-law’s home in Malvern before going on to Exeter for the ceremony. We wanted to see the Yorkshire Dales and plotted a route that took us the scenic way. Down through the North Pennines, with a landscape of open heather moors and peatlands, to the Yorkshire Dales where rivers tumble across rocky beds through green valleys and under historic arched bridges. Here rolling pastures are criss-crossed with grey stone walls, and black-faced sheep meander across the road taking little notice of the sporadic traffic. This is the England of books. We were almost expecting James Herriot to roar past on his way to save a bloated cow.

 

While we were walking through a quaint village in the Dales it started to rain – the first time in ages.

 

We finally arrived in Malvern in time for dinner. It was great to see Bronya again and Robin and Patience too. After dinner Robin and Bronya took us badger hunting. There’s a badger set at the back of the golf course and I’d always wanted to see one that’s not squashed on the road. I was hanging back behind the others trying to be very quiet, when I heard a twig break and a bush rustle and next thing I’m eye-balling Mr Badger. I tried to get Andrew’s attention without making a sound, meanwhile the badger had worked out that to get back to his den he had to come straight towards me. He froze, I froze, and then he made a dash for it, coming straight up the bank towards me and then straight into his burrow, just as Andrew arrived to see his bum disappear underground. Bronya came back too late to see it, but she has seen plenty during her past life living in England, and Robin was way ahead, so he missed it, and then he had the audacity to question whether I’d actually seen one.

 

The next morning after a birthday breakfast for Patience, Andrew and I headed off to Bath. We planned to meet the others that evening in Exeter.

 

Bath is one of the loveliest cities I’ve visited in Britain. It sits in a natural amphitheatre with a river following through the middle and the golden-hued buildings exude past-era elegance. The Roman Baths are the most visited attraction in Bath. Built over a natural thermal spring between the first and fifth centuries AD this was where the Romans relaxed and unwound, as well as worship their goddess Minerva.  The museum takes you through the baths into the heart of the where the Temple of Minerva stood and past the sacred spring itself. It is an outstanding experience. The interactive displays and holograms bring the Romans alive in front of your eyes and there are some spectacular artefacts like the Gorgon’s head that dominates the Roman Temple pediment, the gilt-bronze face of Sulis Minerva and the treasure trove of Roman coins. The ‘curse tablets’ are amusing. These are a collection of messages written on lead or copper that were thrown into the sacred spring. The messages are really quite juvenile in their content: “curse him who has stolen my hooded cloak, whether man or woman, whether slave or free”; “Docimedis has lost two gloves. He asks that the person who stole them lose his mind and his eyes…” Life must have been simple to be bothered traipsing to the sacred spring to write a curse about a lost hoodie.

 

Attached to the original Roman Baths is the 18th century Pump Room that once was the venue of an elegant salon during Bath’s fashionable heyday. It’s here where we sampled a cup of the famous spa waters. It didn’t taste great; warm, slightly metallic with a hint of sulphur.

 

As funny as it sounds Bath offer more than just baths. We visited the beautiful Abbey, with its magnificent fan-vaulted ceiling and then walked up past Jane Austen’s house to the Circus, an elegant circle of terraced houses with an intricately carved frieze of serpents, theatrical masks and druids running along the buildings. Down the hill the elegant shop-lined Pulteney Bridge crosses the River Avon and looks like it would be right at home in Italy. We walked along the Grand Parade with views across the river, past the ornamental gardens and through to Orange Grove and bought fresh cherries from a street vendor before heading back to the carpark. Then it was off to Exeter to meet Bronya, Robin and Patience for a pre-graduation dinner.

 

The next day was graduation day and Bronya’s was the first ceremony, starting at 9am. She was there early for official photographs and met us outside before the ceremony, looking wonderful in her graduation gown and floppy doctoral bonnet. It was an excellent ceremony with uplifting addresses from the University’s leaders, a great performance from the choir and an interesting keynote speech from the recipient of an honorary doctorate, former Labour MP and writer Alan Johnson. The best part was being there to see Bronya receive her Doctor of Philosophy degree (PhD) that she worked so hard to achieve. Afterwards there was champagne and cupcakes in the auditorium before we all headed off for a celebratory lunch at a gastro-pub on the edge of the Dartmoor National Park.

 

The newly capped Dr Dean was flying back to NZ two days later and she and her parent-in-laws were off to visit some of their family and we had a campsite in Cornwall to get to, so we bade farewell and took to the road again heading out across the Dartmoor plains.

 

Dartmoor National Park is a vast moorland with craggy rocks and clumps of woodland stunted by wind. We were not far in when we first encountered the parks famous inhabitants – the Dartmoor Ponies. I thought we’d have to hike off the road to find some, but there were herds everywhere, walking all over the road and standing in parking areas. These ponies have been on the moorlands for 3,500 years and are part of the natural heritage of the area.

 

After a quick stop to stroke the ponies it was on to Cornwall and the small coastal village of Padstow. Since leaving Scotland five days earlier we had been continuously on the go covering over 1200 kms. It was time to slow down. We decided the campsite at Padstow looked good and we checked in for four nights.

Camping in Cornwall

For the next three days we based ourselves at Padstow, taking it slow and enjoying the sunshine. Padstow is a pretty little fishing village and is most known for its famous resident Rick Stein who first opened a fish restaurant here in 1975. As Rick’s fame grew so did the popularity of Padstow and many people come here for his cooking schools and to dine in his restaurants. We couldn’t bring ourselves to try his fish & chips as the thought of deep-fried anything on a baking-hot summer day doesn’t go down well, but we did have one of his Cornish pasties and they were actually quite good. In Cornwall pasties are everywhere, of course they are Cornish, but we didn’t expect every store to be selling them and in such large quantities.

 

Apart from the quaint town there was a lovely beach around the point from Padstow with golden sands and vivid blue water. Padstow is on an estuary and a popular walkway runs along the Camel River. Our campsite was next to the walkway overlooking the water – a perfect spot.

 

Just up the road from Padstow is Tintagel, a small quaint village on a hill above the sea. Beyond the village’s single main street on a rocky headland are the ruins of a castle surrounded in mystery. The castle has long been associated with the legendary King Arthur. But whether he lived here or not matters little when you see the beauty of the place. The castle’s ruined battlements dating back to the 13th century are spread across a rocky pinnacle and the steep climb up a narrow stone staircase is worth it for the exhilarating views of the Cornish coastline.

 

Around a few bays along many one-lane winding lanes is the cute-as-pie fishing village of Port Isaac. This is where the TV show Doc Martin is filmed. You can’t drive down into the Cornish fishing villages, so we parked at the top and walked in down the narrow lanes and past wonky whitewashed houses to the bay. It wasn’t on the tourist trail until Doc Martin. Now they’re cashing in with tacky Doc Martin souvenirs and signs identifying the houses from the show. We did the rounds and saw where the Doc lives, Bert Large’s restaurant and the old school house.

 

Newquay south of Padstow was another day trip. There wasn’t much more than surf shops, pubs, nightclubs and Cornish pasties here, and a small beach with a cluster of colourful beach huts in the corner. The most interesting thing was a house perched on a rock accessed by a footbridge from the mainland. We weren’t impressed with Newquay. Andrew described it as the Benidorm of Cornwall.

 

It was time to move on. We packed up the tent and headed further south. First stop, St Ives. Once again, we parked at the top of the hill and walked down the steep streets into the town. St Ives is bigger and was bustling with tourists. It was once Cornwall’s busiest pilchard fishing port and suffered as fish stocks declined at the start of the 20th century. Help arrived with the arrival of holidaymakers via the railway and among them were artists.  Artists like Turner were drawn to the clear light here and many of the harbourside net lofts were converted to studios. The fishing never recovered but the tourists kept coming, attracted by the gold sand beaches and many art galleries.

 

We continued on and the landscape changed to barren open coastal plains. Through a few more villages, historic Zennor and Pendeen where the tin mines were, then around the corner to the famous landmark of Land’s End. Not technically the southernmost point of mainland Great Britain (that honour goes to Lizard Point around a few more corners), this is the symbolic end of the country and the journey from John O’Groats in Scotland to Land’s End in Cornwall has become somewhat of a pilgrimage. There is an excellent exhibition telling the stories of the many people who have walked, ran, cycled and even ridden lawn mowers the length of Britain, mostly to raise money for charities. Part of the exhibition includes a film taken of the entire journey and sped up to fit into 15 minutes. It’s accompanied by a clever poem incorporating all the places along the way and is fascinating to watch. The rest of the complex at Land’s End is very touristy with food outlets, slot machines and souvenir shops and there’s even a charge to have your photo taken by the famous sign-post. We thought that was a bit cheeky and took our photo from behind the chain fence.

 

A few miles around the coast from Land’s End is beautiful Porthcurno. A golden sand beach in a cove surrounded by steep cliffs. From the top of the cliff the view was stunning, and the turquoise water looked more like Spain than England, the heat making it feel that way too.

 

I’d found a list of the cutest villages in Cornwall and Mousehole (pronounced “mouzel”) was highly ranked. It was our next stop. It was very small and surprisingly we could drive right down to the water and park on the granite sea wall. The walled harbour once held over 400 pilchard fishing boats in the 19th century. It’s still full of colourful boats. They’re mostly for pleasure and tourists. The heat was taking its toll. Time for an ice-cream. Cornwall is famous for its clotted cream and the ice-cream made from organic cream from local farms. I chose Cornish Cream Tea flavour and Andrew had chocolate. Mine had chunks of jam and pieces of scone in it – the full cream tea experience in a cone!

 

Around a bay, through Penzance and along the coast, and we finally stopped at a farm campsite on the outskirts of Falmouth, pitching our tent for a two-night stay. We were right next to a thick hedgerow and Andrew threw some leftover couscous salad into the bushes. It didn’t take long before there was a lot of rustling and a chubby grey rodent popped out for a nibble. It didn’t look like a rat – it was rounder, cuter and had a shorter tail. He was very shy and difficult to photograph. I gave him some almonds, he loved those, and some melon. After a lot of Googling we concluded our friend was Water Vole, a rare and protected species. A stream ran through the hedgerow which made it even more likely that was what he was. During the two nights we were there he and his friends got plenty of fruit, berries and nuts.

 

Falmouth is a nice-enough seaside town with a castle on the point and a pretty harbour. But, it’s a bit tired and rundown and apart from a wooden jetty there’s no waterfront as such. It’s the surrounding area that people come here for – the beaches and the woodlands.

 

After two nights we packed up and continued on.  Further along the estuary is Trelissick House and Gardens.  This stately home sits on its own peninsula at the top of the Fal Estuary with stunning views down to Falmouth.  It was owned by Ida Copeland, one of the earliest women to become an MP. She was also very active in the Girl Guides movement and social welfare. Ida donated the property to the National Trust following the death of her son. It’s a tranquil setting and gardens are lush and expansive. The climate in Cornwall is great for gardening.

 

Not far down the road is the town Truro where we stopped for lunch. We liked Truro. It is a pretty, historic town with cobbled pedestrian streets lined with colourful hanging baskets and a magnificent cathedral. It’s the administrative hub for Cornwall, the capital really.

 

Our next stop was the Eden Project. When you approach the Eden Project, you can’t see any trace of that anything significant is around, there’s just trees and the roadside signs directing you. This is because it’s at the bottom of a giant pit. We parked and followed a path that wound down the hill. Andrew was looking at me, questioning where we were going. He knew nothing about the place. I had tried to explain what I knew but that made him more confused, so I just said, “wait and see”. We finally arrived at the visitors centre and ticket office, still unable to see what lay beyond. Then we were through the doors and overlooking an amazing oasis of green with two enormous futuristic glass domes sitting in the centre. This once disused quarry has been moulded into what is described as a “living theatre of plants and people”. The domes are “biomes”, the largest greenhouses in the world and inside them different environments have been created – rainforest, temperate and arid – all surrounded by gardens filled with plants and flowers from all over the world. It looks like a piece of paradise. As we walked down towards the biomes I noticed the many New Zealand native plants in the gardens. We started in the Mediterranean Biome where mosaic pathways and rocky steps take you through gardens and plantings from the Mediterranean, South Africa, California and Western Australia. The landscapes are created to mimic nature, but there’s also a tribute to the cultivation of food in this climate with a vineyard complete with sculptures of Bacchus, a chilli patch with every different type of chilli from across the globe, and a super-sized herb garden that smelt amazing.  I had to keep my hands by my sides to stop myself stealing the runner beans and peas in the vege patch. Next was the Rainforest Biome touted as the “largest rainforest in captivity”. A wall of heat hits you as you walk in. It’s lush and damp and so very warm. Colourful roul-roul partridges walk around the ground keeping the bugs under control. Some of them had tiny black fuzzy chicks. As you walk along the path you move through different tropical countries – Africa, South America, Malaysia and more. There’s a waterfall and pools and even a cloud generator. Along the paths are rubber trees, bananas, cashews, cocoa, vanilla and other fruit, nuts and spices – so many products and foods come the tropics. High above the forest is the canopy walkway and of course I wanted to go up. Andrew left me to it. We were the last group through before they closed it. It was getting too hot and humid to be up there – 38 degrees and climbing. This is an incredible place, like another planet but it’s all ours.

 

Eden Project may be unique and rich in educational value, but it’s not immune to the tourist trap. Like everywhere else there are multiple food outlets and all with long queues. Andrew’s bugbear – people arriving at a place and promptly starting to eat.

 

Down the most hair-raisingly narrow roads we’d driven on – one-lane and with few passing areas – we found our campsite for the next two nights. This one was on a working farm on a hill above the prettiest of all Cornish villages, Polperro.  We camped here for two nights. Polperro stole our hearts. This 13th century former pilchard fishing village is almost too pretty for its own good. A single main street of whitewashed cottages, old mill houses, inns and boathouses with the little River Pol beside them, runs down a wooded valley to the fishing harbour and tiny stone Roman bridge. We spent most of the next day there watching the harbour fill as the tide came in, the tourist boats come and go, eating lunch in the sun at a pub, chatting to an English couple on holiday, clambering up rocks for the view, and soaking up the slow pace of life in this adorable little town. It was the perfect place to finish our time in Cornwall.

Devon & Dorset

The English couple we’d met in Polperro had suggested Salcombe as a lovely place to visit so it became our first stop after leaving Cornwall. We used the Park and Ride, the walk to town was too long in the heat. Salcombe is a sweet little coastal town with a thriving artisan community. There are boutiques, workshops and distilleries crafting everything from leather goods and wooden surfboards to Salcombe gin. The crowd holidaying here are a more upmarket lot, and the restaurants and cafes are catering to this more affluent clientele. We found a deli with some lunch in our price range and ate it watching the boats come and go.

 

We took the Park and Ride again when we arrived in Dartmouth. Dartmouth is another lovely town, sitting on the edge of the estuary of the River Dart. There’s a lot of history here; Tudor buildings, a castle on the peninsula and medieval fortifications in the town. It was filled with tourists and boats going in every direction. The coast of Devon is very beautiful. We continue to be amazed at how diverse the landscape of Britain is, from mountains to moors, to beautiful beaches and watery playgrounds like here in Dartmouth.

 

After an hour or so we were back at the car driving down to the estuary to take the car ferry across. On the other side we navigated down some more very narrow country lanes, dodging huge tractors laden with hay bales, to Greenway, Agatha Christie’s beloved holiday home. This is another National Trust property and is set up as it would have been in the 1950’s when Agatha and her family spent summers and Christmases here. It has a relaxed, dreamy feel and you can imagine the family and guests playing croquet, strolling through the woodland to the boathouse by the river, and perhaps listening to Agatha read her latest mystery. The family were great collectors and the house is filled with archaeological artefacts, silver, china, art and of course books.

 

We camped for the next two nights in Dawlish Warren, a seaside resort town not far from Exeter. The weather started to turn and the following day it was showery and windy – no longer beach weather. We took a drive to Exmouth for lunch and on the way back visited A La Ronde, a fascinating 16-sided house. Not only did it look interesting from the outside but inside it was full of treasures from around the world. It was built in 1796 by two women, cousins who had been on a grand tour of Europe and were influenced by the round shaped buildings of antiquity. They also loved nature and fantastic shell and feather designs decorate the house, including an amazing shell gallery around the top of the central circular auditorium. They must have been eccentric women as it really is a quite fantastical place, and to add interest they named only female successors in their will and those females had to remain unmarried. And yes, this is another National Trust property. By being determined to get our money’s worth out of our membership we uncovered all sorts of hidden gems.

 

The weather was deteriorating when we packed up the tent and headed on to Dorset. Our first stop was Dorchester, a handsome historic town humming with activity and market stalls selling local produce lining the high street. After lunch at the Horse with the Red Umbrella we drove into the countryside to see the Cerne Abbas Giant. Carved into hillside this 55-metre-high white chalk figure depicts a nude male figure with a rather large erection. It’s thought to be ancient but there’s all sorts of debate as to how old it really is as the strange thing is it wasn’t mentioned in literature until the late 17th century making some people believe it was a political joke about Oliver Cromwell. Either way it’s quite impressive and amusing.

 

By this time the weather was getting stormy and we decided not to go the Dorset coast and instead find somewhere to camp before the rain set in. The first campsite was in an open field and as it was blowing a gale and we didn’t fancy our tent coming down in the middle of the night we decided to find somewhere else. After another couple that didn’t look much better we finally came across a small campsite tucked behind high hedges. There were only a few others camping there, but it looked fine and there was a perfect spot almost entirely sheltered from the wind. We got the tent up just before the rain came down and it rained non-stop all the next day. We couldn’t lie in bed all day reading and we needed to eat, so to a shopping mall in Poole, along with every other drenched holidaymaker. Just down the road from our campsite a huge summer festival featuring Rick Astley and Simple Minds was cancelled because of the weather. Thousands of people went home disappointed.

 

The rain cleared that evening for our final night camping. We had a house-sit arranged near London for our last week in the UK and had no more use for our tent and camping equipment. Andrew asked the campsite owner if he knew anyone who wanted it and he offered to buy it off us. Perfect! Then just before bed that night the airbed deflated. We found the hole and managed to repair it with glue and tape (thank goodness Mr Love carries fix-it stuff) and amazingly it stayed up all night. It lasted the trip, that’s all we wanted.

 

We finished our tour of Dorset with a visit to Durdle’s Door, a rock formation in the shape of an archway on the wild Jurassic Coast. We had to fight against the wind on the path down and then got soaked running back up.

 

A more sheltered attraction was Kingston Lacy, a lavish stately home inspired by an Italian palace. I’m sure I saw Andrew rolling his eyes at the thought of another historic house to visit but I pretended not to notice. Not only is Kingston Lacy a grandiose house on a large estate but it was packed with incredible art. The house was teeming with paintings by the likes of Rubens, Van Dyck, Titian & Brueghel & Tintoretto and the ceilings are covered in incredible frescoes by Italian Baroque artists. The art collection is 360 years in the making having been started in the 1650’s by Sir Ralph Bankes who built the house. Room after opulent room is adorned with exquisite works of art and antiques. The Spanish Room was particularly lavish with chocolate brown leather walls and dripping in Spanish paintings including one, by famous Spanish maestro Diego Velazquez. Once again this is a National Trust property and one we would never have visited otherwise. And this one blew Andrew away.

 

We had booked a B&B for the night in a village on the edge of the New Forest and took the slow route through the National Park to see the New Forest ponies. Just like Dartmoor, there were herds of ponies everywhere, walking on the roads and standing in the parking areas. You’re not supposed to pat them but they’re so friendly it’s impossible not to. A foal particularly liked me scratching his chin and wouldn’t let me stop.

 

The following morning on the way to our house-sit in Chertsey we stopped in at Winchester Cathedral, one of the largest cathedrals in Europe, with the longest nave and greatest overall length of any Gothic cathedral in Europe. It is a beautiful and impressive building. Jane Austen is also buried here, and fans of her work have left handwritten tributes to her by her grave. One fan thanking her for giving them Mr Darcy and another for Elisabeth Bennet as she is their “absolute heroine”!

Chertsey & Surrounds

Our final week in England was spent in Chertsey on the outskirts of London, looking after two very affectionate staffies, Bailey and Tippy, while their owners holidayed in Turkey. After the brief storm while we were camping in Dorset the weather returned to its summery best and we spent a lot of the week outdoors: walking the dogs in the nearby forest, blogging, relaxing in the sun, reading on the hammock, and generally resting up for the next leg of our journey. Chertsey is quite close to Heathrow so there was never a shortage of low flying aircraft to try and identify.

 

The Kiwi neighbour invited us for a drink. He’s been here 20 years, married Monica from Poland and now they have two English kids. We had some good laughs telling tales of travel.

 

We did pull ourselves away to visit Windsor again, and walk along the Thames at Runnymede, the site of the sealing of the Magna Carta. We took a drive past the palatial homes of Virginia Water, the most expensive suburb in England and home to all sorts of celebrities, although we didn’t see any. We went to Ascot Racecourse for a look and there was a day trip to London too. We couldn’t be so close and not go. We do like London. Across Waterloo Bridge, along The Strand, Chancery Lane, Tottenham Court, Oxford Street, Regent Street, Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, a quick walk down the Mall for a peek of Buckingham Palace, Whitehall, No. 10, the Horse Guards, past a shrouded Big Ben under repair, across Westminster Bridge, past the London Eye and back to Waterloo Station – a big circle, 20,000 steps, a new Fitbit and make-up for me and shorts and t-shirts for him.

 

And now our time in the UK has come to an end. Andrew tells me we’ve spent 102 nights here, I have lost count. I could go on about how incredibly diverse and beautiful the landscape is and how every corner of this nation is layered in history, but I think I’ve already said everything in my last six blogs, and I’ve certainly gone on long enough.

 

We had a blast Britain. It’s now time to head east, to Bulgaria.

 

Andrew’s Observations: 3 Months in Britain

Having spent a little over 3 months travelling the UK I think I am qualified enough to make a few observations of our time here. We have travelled to the top of Scotland and from the Isle of Skye on one side to Aberdeen on the other; right through Wales, from Cardiff to St David’s to Snowdonia and up to Holyhead; to the Norfolk Broads and Farne Island on the east coast of England; and down to Dover on the south coast and as far as Land’s End right at the bottom of Cornwall; and so much in between. In all we have covered 6,057 miles or 9,691 kms.  I would suggest we have seen more of the UK than 95% of the people living here. We didn’t go to Ireland as we spent two weeks there in 2016.

 

Weather

For those of you that live in the UK or have travelled here, you will know that weather is the main topic of conversation, although Brexit is a popular subject at the moment. We have been lucky enough to have been here for one of the best summers on record. Everywhere we go the locals tell us ‘it’s not normally like this’. In Glasgow we were there on the hottest day on record and many parts of the country are having their driest season on record. The countryside is very brown, and one farmer told me he has real problems ahead, as he is already feeding his winter feed out which means he won’t have enough to last winter.

 

Costs and Budgets

While here we have kept tabs on our spending but always knew it would cost us more than the continent. But, for the record, using the same NZ$1,050 per week we budgeted in Europe, we are NZ$2,000 under budget for the 14 weeks, so our spending has been around NZ$907 pw, very similar to Europe. This includes everything except car rental. Everything means petrol, food, accommodation and tourist sites. As for the car rental, we were going to buy a vehicle and resell it, but when we worked out the insurance, the road tax, the loss on sale and of course the hassle of having to sell it quickly at the end, it didn’t stack up, so we hired a car. Louise did a lot of homework on car rental as most car companies didn’t do a long-term rental rate, which did make it a bit expensive. But, Europcar do have what they call a three-month rate, albeit that meant 84 days, or three months of 28 days.  We needed 102 days, so we took the first car for 28 days to qualify for the long-term rate then another car for the remaining 76 days. In all the 102 days cost us NZ$28 a day. If you take the rental car into account, we will be something like NZ$1,000 over for the 14 weeks. Not bad, and once again we have never said we can’t afford to do or see anything. We have done everything we wanted and eaten out numerous times. Look out though for traffic infringement fines. We have had two and they’re worth explaining. When we drove into Cambridge we were following Google maps and road signs, when the road went down to one lane and it said bus lane. I couldn’t turn around as it was one-way, but the sign did say ‘bus lane except for exit to Smith Street” so I turned in Smith Street. Not good enough – we received a $120 fine plus a $80 charge from Europcar for administration. We thought about appealing it but decided not to bother and pay up. We received a $60 prompt payment discount, but it still cost us $140 all up. We thought it was a bit tough!!! The second was a parking fine. For the record you do pay for parking everywhere in the UK. There are very few free parking areas like in NZ. This time though we were in Cumbria and stopped to look at a National Trust site. The sign said; “parking one hour but no return for two hours”.  Seemed fine except after 10 minutes, sitting having coffee, we saw a warden writing us a ticket and went to investigate. He explained it was ‘disc parking’. “What?” I said. It turned out to be this: you can get a cardboard disc from any of the shops and it has a clock on it and you set the time to when you parked the vehicle and place it on the dashboard, so the warden can see how long you have been there. To be fair the warden was very helpful, but he had already written out the ticket, so it was “in the system”. I decided to email them my thoughts and try and save NZ$50. As it happened they let me off. Disc parking – one of the dumbest ideas I have ever seen, and we have not seen it anywhere else in our travels.    In the UK you see very few ‘traffic cops’. Most of their law enforcement is now done with speed cameras, and they are everywhere. It definitely makes you slow down and take heed – parking and speeding fines are expensive compared to New Zealand.

 

Touring the UK

I know most people come to the UK and see a couple of places, like London, Edinburgh and maybe a couple of smaller places, but the country is wide and diverse and steeped in so much interesting history (Louise is more in-depth about that in her blogs). Sufficed to say we have never been short of something to do and the time has gone super quick. The entrance fees to historic places – Cathedrals, Museums etc. – is significantly more expensive than Europe. Most of these places have an entrance fee of between $20 and $30 per person so we decided to join the National Trust.  After the initial outlay of around $240 we have enjoyed free entrance to many places of interest, and again Louise has explained more in her blogs. At this time of year, the country is “festivals on steroids”. There are just so many different types of festivals, from music festivals, beer festivals, jazz festivals, antique festivals, country fair festivals and so on. The cost to get into these events vary a lot. We paid NZ$6 each to go to a craft beer festival, but NZ$55 each to go to the Royal Three Counties Show, a massive country fair.

 

Accommodation

We have varied our accommodation from bed and breakfast/hotels, to house-sitting and camping. We decided back in France to buy a four-person tent, one you can stand up in, from Decathlon, a huge sports store chain. It cost us NZ$150 and was a great investment seeing the English are having a fantastic summer. We had all our bedding from the motorhome along with a small gas BBQ, pots, pans cutlery and two outdoor chairs, so we only needed an air bed. All up we have done 49 days house-sitting, 20 days in B&B and hotels, 20 nights camping and 13 nights with family. I must say the B&B costs can be a bit high for what you get. Its hard to find much for under NZ$150 but again Louise was a star using Booking.com. You can often find last minute specials and as we had no fixed plans we were happy to drive a little further and stay in a small village, which was often so much better than the tourist hot-spots. The camp site costs are a bit high. In comparison at the same time of year in Europe, for a motorhome site with power, we were paying around NZ$40 a night. Here in the UK we are paying the same or even a little more for a tent site with no power. As an aside I must say Decathlon is a great brand. They are superb with after sales service and carry such a great product range. I hope they decide to expand to New Zealand.

 

Food & Drink

Overall food and drink costs more than most of Europe but cheaper than NZ. I have been known to enjoy a pint of Guinness or two, and outside the major cities I have paid around NZ$7 to NZ$8 a pint. I know back home its more like $11 to $12.The range of places to eat out is vast. If you take an Indian Restaurant for example: twice lately we have enjoyed an Indian meal and a bottle of wine for around NZ$85, and I know it would be more like NZ$110 – $120 at home. Pub meals are well known and pretty much everywhere, but the Weatherspoon chain of pubs take a lot of beating. They have many beers around NZ$5 a pint and their meal deals are superb. They have ‘special’ nights – fish, curry, chicken, steak etc. – and they are a great deal. Buy one of these meals for around NZ$14 -NZ$16 and you get a free drink. A pint of beer (and yes, that includes Guinness), a glass of wine, or a spirit. Hard to beat a meal and a drink for that price and we can assure you the meals are good.

 

Supermarket prices, whilst being more expensive than Spain et al., are still cheaper, in most cases, than back home and the range of fresh fruit and vegetables is great. They also do so many ready-to-eat meals and these are of good quality. The range of fresh pasta for example is superb, cheap and very tasty. They have a great range of pottles of quick fresh snacks, and many do great meal-deal lunches, where NZ$6 can get you a small starter (fruit/melon in a small pot), a good filled sandwich or roll or sushi and a drink. The drink can be coke, sparkling water etc.

 

The big named supermarkets like Tesco, Morrisons and Sainsburys are under a lot of pressure from the two German cut-price supermarket chains, Lidl and Aldi, who have moved here in a big way.

 

I know back home supermarkets are moving away from single-use plastic bags, but here in the UK they already have. Most people take their reusable shopping bags. There are in-store bags available, but they are multi-use bags and there is a charge for them.  However, they may have encouraged people to bring their own bags BUT, and a big but, just about everything instore comes in a plastic container. You buy 5 nectarines in a plastic container with a cellophane top, same with a lot of other fruit and vegetables whilst in the meat cabinet all chicken, meats and everything else you can think of is packed the same way. They may have cut down on plastic bags but definitely not on packaging.

 

Final Comments

With the weather on our side the UK has had so much to offer. But, there are downsides. I do get sick of everything coming with “chips”. Every Indian restaurant we have been to offers a side of chips. When I asked why, the owner rolled his eyes and said because people want it. It also has a roll-on effect. I have never professed to be the smallest person on the planet, a little overweight (currently 94kg), but England has an obesity problem BIG TIME. There are just so many very overweight people walking round, or rather waddling around, and when you walk past the eating houses it’s obvious why. They eat far too much, and too many chips. This is not just the older population. So many in the late teens, early 20’s, are huge. As against the 30 other countries we have visited the UK obesity problem stands out.

 

Getting to see a doctor is very difficult. I am on a low medication of blood pressure pills and have been for many years. In NZ I see my doctor every 6 months for a check-up and prescription. Here they only give you a 28 day of prescription, so in England I would need 13 visits a year. In NZ I need two, and the odd thing is, in NZ they always take my blood pressure and listen to my heart. Of the 5 visits I have made in the UK I have only had my blood pressure taken once, and they never have they listened to my heart beat. It begs the question, why does one need to go to the Doctor every 28 days if all they do is write out a prescription. The problem is the NHS (National Health Service) is clogged up and getting to see a doctor is not easy. I was forced to phone at a given time to get an appointment and it was ‘first call, first seen’. You could not just walk in and get an appointment you had to ring at either 8.30 or 3.30. I overheard a lady saying she had tried 4 doctors over 2 days before getting an appointment. And from what I have been told from friends and family it is hard to see the same doctor. You get given an appointment to see “any doctor at the practice” each time you go, yet recent research shows that having the same GP halves the chance of an early death. Getting a dentist appointment is no different.

 

Mobile phone coverage is shocking. Even close to main centres and with no hills around you can be out of range. It really is bad and when compared to the other countries we visited in Europe, it is the worst. This view is shared by many English people we have talked to.

 

We have thoroughly enjoyed our three months travelling the UK. We have both been here many times before, and for the record I was born here but emigrated to NZ with my parents as a 3-year-old, but I have never spent three months just touring the country. The people are so helpful and friendly and the volunteers at the Heritage sites are so passionate and go beyond the call of duty to tell you about the place and show you around and everyone we have met has been great. They know how to greet and treat tourists.

 

In summary, we loved our 3 months here, there’s so much more to it than you imagine, and it does take time to explore properly. Britain is far better than we expected. It is so very picturesque, and each county is different from the next.

 

All I can say is good luck with Brexit ……. Perhaps we timed this trip perfectly.

 

Costs & Mileage

For the record we spent 102 nights in the UK, made up of 13 with family, 20 in B&B/Hotels, 20 in campsites and 49 house-sitting

 

B&B/Hotel costs: $2,297 at an average of $115 per night

 

Camping costs: $868 at an average of $43.40 per night

 

We travelled 6,057 miles or 9,691 kms in a bit over three months spending NZ$1,423 on petrol. Average petrol prices in UK at present are around NZ$2.53 a litre, but again you can find cheaper especially at supermarket sights and NOT on the motorway.

 

Rental car hire for just under 15 weeks: NZ$3,000, or NZ$28 per day

Scotland in Summer

We couldn’t have had better weather for our 16 days in Scotland and by splitting our time between road-tripping and house-sitting we saw a lot of this strikingly beautiful country.

 

 Gretna Green, Lockerbie & Glasgow

 

Our first stop across the Scottish border was Gretna Green, made famous as the place where English couples have eloped to since 1754. It all started when a law was introduced in England requiring any couple under 21 to have parental consent and all marriages to be conducted in a church. To get around this, young lovers fled to Scotland where these laws didn’t apply. A blacksmith’s shop in Gretna Green was the first place across the border and as angry parents were often in hot pursuit couples had to marry as quickly as possible after entering Scotland, therefore this became the place to do it. A simple handfasting ceremony over the Blacksmith’s anvil and you were legally married. It wasn’t until 1940 that these ceremonies were outlawed but the Scottish law that anyone over 16 can freely marry meant couples continued to come to Gretna Green and still do. However, now it’s more for the romantic allure of a history of forbidden romance rather than evading any laws. It’s also a busy tourist destination and busloads of visitors traipse through the shops selling a huge selection of tartan, whisky, shortbread and other Scottish products, eat at the café and visit the over-priced museum of romance.

 

Not far from Gretna Green is the village of Lockerbie. A small unassuming village that was flung into the global spotlight when Pan Am Flight 103 blew apart in the sky above the village on December 21st, 1988, killing all 259 passengers and crew and 11 villagers. It was an event that we remembered well – the grim pictures of people combing the fields for debris, wrapped up against the harsh weather, the burning remnants of unrecognisable plane parts and the crater formed by the fuselage with houses, their windows filled with Christmas lights, teetering on the edge as though looking into the hole that swallowed their neighbours. The baking hot day when we visited the memorial was a far cry from the conditions back then. The memorial is tucked at the back of the village cemetery and we were the only ones there. We briefly questioned if our visiting here was macabre. But it was a significant event in modern history and one that had a far-reaching effect. The main remembrance plaque is surrounded by many individual plaques with messages from the families of those who were lost. We were struck by the number of children and young people killed. 11 of them were students from Syracuse University, returning to New York after a semester in London. They were all 19 or 20. Back near the entrance to the cemetery was a visitor centre with a book listing every person on the plane, with information on their lives, careers and families. Lots of American military were onboard because in those days America still had troops in West Germany and they were all heading home for Christmas. The woman in the visitor centre was very pleased to see us and greeted us warmly. Not many people had been through that day and she was getting lonely. She told us that nearly all the families visit the site regularly and that Syracuse University offers a scholarship for two Lockerbie students to attend the university each year as a way of thanking the community of Lockerbie and remembering their fellow students. After answering all our questions about the impact of the bombing on her town, she continued to chat away about everything from the weather, Scottish independence, her marriage, kids, rugby, Whisky and the weather again. Well that’s what we thought she was talking about – it’s quite difficult to understand a broad Scottish accent, and especially one that’s so enthusiastically animated.

 

We finally pulled ourselves away and continued to Glasgow. It was the hottest day on record, although that was beaten a few days later.  The city was sweltering. These northern cities are not built for the heat. There were no leafy trees to offer relief from the heat radiating off the steel and stone and even the banks of the River Clyde are lined with concrete walkways. After checking into our hotel, we wandered into the city. The place was crowded. Everyone was out enjoying the unusual heat. In the central city the burnt orange sandstone buildings glowed in the late afternoon sun. Glasgow has some beautiful architecture, much of it from the late 19th and early 20th century, an era when the city’s economy was flourishing. The city is filled with elaborate Victorian-style buildings – like the impressive City Chambers flanking George Square – and elegant townhouses decorated with ornate Art Nouveau facades. The Royal Exchange Square is very stately, and the iconic Neo-Classical Gallery of Modern Art could be straight out of Rome. I had always assumed that Edinburgh was the cultural hub of Scotland, but it is Glasgow that is home to the Scottish Opera, Scottish Ballet and National Theatre of Scotland. There was even an architectural style unique to Glasgow, unsurprisingly called the “Glasgow Style” that was prominent in the early 20th century. As far as cities go Glasgow is quite dapper, not what we’d expected from one that made its fortunes from the dirty work of ship building

 

Lovely Lochs & Magnificent Munros

 

We left the crowds and heat of Glasgow and headed northwest into the land of lochs. Our first stop was the town of Balloch at the west end of Loch Lomond. It was a pretty town bustling with tourists, mostly heading out on cruises of the lake. It was another stunning day and we walked along a lakeside track to a bay where people were swimming. Further up the western side of the lake is the pretty town of Luss which has two claims to fame – that it is the prettiest town in Scotland and was the setting for a popular Scottish TV soap, High Road. It is pretty and very prim, with identical sandstone and slate cottages covered with rambling roses and with doorways adorned with hanging baskets. It looked like most of these cottages are now holiday lets and the existence of the village is now entirely down to tourism.

 

Our scenic drive took us through to Inveraray on the banks of Loch Fyne. The main attractions in this pretty white-washed town are the castle belonging to the Duke of Argyll, head of the Campbell clan, and the historic jailhouse. We stopped for lunch and as we were planning to camp for the next four nights thought we better get some repellent for the midges. We had been told horrific stories of midges as big as birds that attack anything and everything on the west coast of Scotland. These tales of flying clouds of menace had almost put us off our plans to camp. I had been told that the only thing to repel them is Avon’s Skin So Soft and that most shops in Scotland sell this. Sure enough, the first shop we walked into in Inveraray had plenty and after listening to the two women staff tell us once again the horrors of the midges we bought a supply and got back on the road to Fort William.

 

The pass of Glencoe is considered one of the most beautiful parts of Scotland, but the unpredictable weather means it is often shrouded in cloud. One guy we spoke to said he had driven through many times and had never seen the mountains. We were lucky, we drove through on the most amazing day. There was not a cloud in the sky and the scenery was spectacular. The road winds through this rugged and wild landscape skirted on either side by grand mountains. The warmth of summer had removed almost all trace of snow apart from the odd patch, and the mountains were soaked in vivid green, only their slate-grey peaks remained naked. We stopped to breath it in.

 

Apart from dramatic natural beauty Glencoe is renowned for being the site of on the most brutal massacres in Scottish history. In 1692 the pro-king Campbells slaughtered 38 of the MacDonald clan in their homes. This atrocity has become part of the Scottish folklore and the bad blood between the MacDonalds and the Campbells still exists.

 

It was late afternoon when we reached the town of Fort William on the shores of Loch Linnhe. This is the gateway to Ben Nevis, Britain’s highest peak at 1,345 metres. Our campsite was nestled in the beautiful Glen Nevis valley and the start of the Ben Nevis track was a short walk down the road.

 

I wanted to climb Ben Nevis, but only if the weather was perfect. I see no point in slogging up a mountain that is covered in clouds. The weather forecast for the next day looked to be ideal and as the evening wore on I made a firm decision that I would do it. At about 3am we were woken by the people in the neighbouring tent talking and rustling, it sounded like they were getting up. We thought nothing of it and went back to sleep. It was a hot night and being so far north the sun barely set so I was awake early and thought I may as well get underway with this climb. Finally sorted, with a pack filled with fruit, nuts, water, and extra clothing in case the weather changed, I kissed Andrew goodbye and headed off down the road to the start of the track. I knew what to expect as I’d read about the track, and it was true to word – a relentless climb from the beginning to the end. The 6.5km track winds up the valley and across a ridge to Ben Nevis itself and then gets steeper and steeper. There were plenty of people on the track and I struck up conversation with a few, making time go faster. It was another record-breaking hot day and it was thirsty work. A mountain waterfall half way up provided a welcome re-fill of water. Not far past the waterfall the grass and tussock disappeared and with it the defined track. From here the path over rock and scoria was marked by piles of stones, although with the amount of people on the mountain that day there was no chance of going astray. Further up, we all scrambled over a large patch of snow and then up a steep rise, which teasingly looked like it may be the top, before going over a ridge only to see more rock rising in front. Finally, 3 hours and 45 minutes later, I reached the summit, which was more of a flat plateau the size of a rugby field. The expansive view was worth it. A nectarine, some water, and a few photos later and it was time to head back down. I felt surprisingly fresh and didn’t need much of a rest but heading down was harder than I excepted. The rocky uneven path and the sheer steepness of the track made a quick descent impossible. The climb may have made me puff but it was easier than this and I was glad I’d taken my walking poles to balance with. After an hour watching every footfall it started to get tedious – I’d achieved my goal, now I just wanted to get back to tell Andrew all about it.  Finally, 2 and a half hours later, I made it back at the campsite where I found Andrew sunbathing happily. Our neighbours’ tent had gone, and Andrew said they started their climb at 3.30am (yes, that was them getting up at 3am) and didn’t get back until almost one. It took them over 9 hours and they were much younger than me! I felt pretty chuffed with that. The only side effect from my walk was a pair of knee length red socks.

Isle of Skye, Loch Ness & Inverness

 

After Fort William our next destination was the Isle of Skye where we camped for two nights. Skye is a beautiful and rugged place shaped by the elements and although a popular tourist destination still feels wild and remote. Our campsite was by an inlet at Sligachan, with the imposing Black Cuillin mountains as a backdrop. A walking track lead up the valley along the river towards those formidable black mountains and eagles soared in the distance. We spent two days exploring the island – driving along narrow rural roads occasionally overrun by sheep, through cute seaside villages with white-washed houses, and past amazing cliffs and rock formations. We visited the ruins of the medieval Duntulm Castle, the former seat of Clan MacDonald, scattered on the clifftop overlooking a deep cove swirling with kelp. We walked up a valley overlooked by mountains to the Fairy Pools, where waterfalls spilled from one deep-blue pool to the next. And we visited Tallisker Distillery where an exhibition told of not only the history of Whisky on Skye but also the history of island people who settled here and endure the harsh conditions of island life. The sunshine and dry weather we were relishing is not the norm here. On the day we left Skye we drove for miles down a one-lane track to the Kylerhea Otter Hide to see if we could spot some otters in the wild. We waited patiently, straining our eyes to see a bob of a head or a flick of a tail in the sea below. But not this time. We saw lots of seals and birdlife but no otters.

 

After Skye it was off to Loch Ness. Our first stop was Fort Augustus at the extreme southwestern end of the lake. This compact and picturesque little village is where the Caledonian Canal joins Loch Ness through a series of five locks. In fact, the town is dissected by the locks so wherever you are in the village you can watch boats slowly come down through locks to the loch. While we were there a yacht and three launches patiently worked their way down the watery staircase. Locks are fascinating to watch.

 

After lunch we continued around the lake to Dores at the northern end of Loch Ness and renowned as the place to get the best view of this famous lake. It is here that Nessie Hunter Steve Feltham has been based since 1991. He lives alone in a small campervan and along with keeping an eye out for a monster spends his days making odd little Nessie models that he sells to tourists. Andrew tried to strike up conversation with him, but he was gruff and rude and clearly didn’t want to talk – what did we expect from someone who has spent the last 27 years living in solitude and hunting a mythical creature.

 

You may be wondering about those midges I mentioned earlier. The huge man-eating Scottish midges that drive even the hardiest of campers away. We didn’t see any. A couple of small hovering fruit fly-type insects and a few wasps, but nothing more. Either they weren’t out this year, or the New Zealand sand-fly makes every other sand-fly pale in comparison.

 

Before heading to Inverness for the night we made a quick detour to the seaside town of Rosemarkie on Black Isle peninsula north of Inverness. This was where my great-aunt Molly lived in the final years of her life and where she died. In the sunshine and warmth, it is a pretty town, but we could only imagine how cold and bitter it would be through the long dark winter that engulfs this part of the world. Aunt Molly wasn’t Scottish, she was English, but after a short stint in New Zealand she moved to this small town in a remote part of Scotland where she had no family and where she lived out her last days. If my memory of her is right I can’t imagine her leaning into the wind as it whipped along the beach or hiking over the heather-covered hills soaking up the views across the bay, but perhaps she did and perhaps that’s why she lived here, for the remote beauty of this place.

 

Back in Inverness we climbed the viewing tower in the castle for views over this small city. Church spires and a clock tower punctuate the skyline and across from the castle, on the opposite side of the River Ness, the sturdy cathedral sits quietly. It’s a quaint and quiet city. The castle is relatively new, built in 1840 as a prison, but it sits on a site long used for fortifications. In its long and tempestuous history, the previous Castle was set ablaze more than once by the mighty MacDonald Lords and endured a number of sieges. Scottish history turbulent and bloody.

Through Whisky Country to Aberdeen

 

The next day we took to the road and headed across country towards Aberdeen. Our first stop was not far from Inverness in Culloden. The bleak and expansive Culloden Moor is where, on April 16, 1746, the last of the Jacobite Risings took place. It lasted only an hour but heralded the end of the distinctive clan system bringing many changes to Highland Scotland.

 

We continued across the Highlands to Speyside, the spiritual home of malt whisky. This region of incredible natural beauty is home to the largest number of distilleries in Scotland because here the weather conditions are perfect for Whisky. It’s the driest and warmest part of Scotland, ideal for growing barley, and when combined with the pure clean ‘soft’ mountain water creates some the world’s most famous whiskies. Instead of taking a distillery tour we decided to do something different and visit the Speyside Cooperage where the whisky barrels are made. The man at the desk said is would be the best four pounds we spent that day and he was right. The tour took us into the cooperage workshop where every year they make and repair over 100,000 oak barrels. We were told of the importance of the partnership between cooper and distiller in creating the perfect whisky. Many of the barrels are ex-bourbon, port, sherry, or peated casks which give the whisky the bulk of its unique flavour. Each distillery has a different requirement for their unique whiskies and the barrels are “fired”, charring the inside, to these specifications provided by the whisky maker. The art of making a barrel is unchanged over time and only natural materials are used. Not a drop of glue or a single nail goes near the barrel and many of the coopers use the tools their great-grandfathers used. Watching them work is mesmerising. They have a rhythm to their movement and systematically churn out barrel after barrel. The hammer they use is four times heavier than an average DIY hammer and they work from 7.30 until 5 each day. Paid by the barrel they are incentivised to keep going and only take brief breaks. Our tour guide told us that good coopers earn over 80,000 pounds a year, but not many are still working after 50. It’s hard on the body. Last year at the Cooperage four of their best coopers attempted the Guinness World Records title for the fastest time to build a 190-litre barrel. They had a time of 7 minutes 30 to beat and David McKenzie finished making his barrel in a blinding 3 minutes 3.18 seconds, successfully securing the record. That’s a barrel made from scratch and ready to take whisky in just over 3 minutes – amazing! This tour had opened our eyes to an industry that we had never given much thought to, but one that is a vital part in the art of making fine whisky.

 

Down the road from the Cooperage is Dufftown the town built on seven stills and the malt whisky capital of the world. With less than 2,000 residents it is a tiny town and exists almost solely for whisky. On the outskirts of Dufftown is the Glenfiddich distillery. We stopped and walked through this magnificent complex, read the history of the place and browsed the impressive whisky gallery where there is no limit on how much you can pay for a special edition bottle. Out of our league.

 

It was late afternoon when we arrived in Aberdeen and we immediately noticed the colour of the buildings. They are all silvery-grey and sparkling in the sunlight. Against a backdrop of vivid blue sky, it looked quite beautiful. No wonder this city is often called the “Silver City”. This distinct granite is used for everything from houses to cathedrals.

 

When oil was discovered in the North Sea off the coast of Aberdeen in the mid-20th century the city became know as the Oil Capital of Europe and the industry has been lucrative for this area.

 

After checking in to our hotel we wandered into town and while Andrew got a much-needed hair cut I worked out what we should see in the short time we had. Meanwhile Andrew asked the hairdresser for her opinion and was told there’s nothing to do or see in Aberdeen. This opinion was a bit harsh as it is a handsome city with striking buildings. The architecture is an eclectic mix of many styles and eras, but all built in that distinctive silver granite. The Neo-Gothic Marischal College, part of Aberdeen University, with its intricate lacy façade, and then there’s the odd Flemish-Gothic style New Town House complete with pointed turrets, and of course the usual churches and chambers.

 

Edinburgh

 

The next morning, we left early and drove directly to Edinburgh to meet my sister Meagan at the Airport. She and her husband were on holiday from New Zealand, but Allister was combining their trip with work and had gone to Bath for some meetings, so Meagan flew up to Edinburgh in advance. It was great to see her for the first time in over 14 months. Once we had collected her and checked into our hotel we all headed into the city to explore.

 

Edinburgh was heaving with people. Unlike Glasgow this city seemed to be centred around tourism – every shop on the Royal Mile sells tartan, whisky, fudge and shortbread and kiosks touting city tours and underground ghostly experiences are many. We wandered up towards the castle occasionally browsing in the touristy stores. St Giles’ Cathedral was closed and outside a group of aged men were practising marching. We watched for a while, bemused at their questionable skills, and then asked one of them what was happening. Apparently, the Queen was in town and would be attending the Cathedral the next morning and they were getting prepared. Edinburgh castle sits at the top of the Royal Mile on Castle Rock and its dark grey form dominates the city’s skyline. Outside the castle seating and lighting was already being installed for the Edinburgh Tattoo in August.

 

We wound our way back down the hill past the Scottish National Gallery where street performers had attracted a small crowd, down Princes Street past the ornate Neo-Gothic memorial to Sir Walter Scott and up towards St Andrew’s Square, finally finding a pub for a drink and dinner.

 

We were back in the city the next morning and walked down to Holyrood Palace, where the Queen resides when she’s in Scotland. She was in residence that day, the royal flag flying high. Across from the palace is the Scottish Parliament. We met Meagan back up the hill beside the memorial to Robbie Burns and walked back to the shopping precinct past Calton Hill where the memorial to Scottish philosopher Dugald Stewart Memorial sits, looking like an authentic Grecian temple.

 

After making the most of the summer sales at M&S it was time for us to get to our next house-sit an hour north on the outskirts of Perth. We left Meagan in Edinburgh as Allister was arriving that evening and made plans to catch up with them both in a couple of days for some Whisky tasting.

 

A Doggy Disaster

 

The people we were house-sitting lived in a beautiful renovated manse surrounded by a lovely big garden in a small rural village not far from Perth. They had two dachshunds, a wire-haired and a miniature that were very both very sweet.

 

Unfortunately, tragedy struck on the second day of the house-sit when one of the dogs died. He was not a well dog and was on a lot of medication for his bad heart. The owners had told us that he had collapsed the previous week during a walk but had seemed to bounce back. However, all walks were off and we were to keep him his quiet as possible. He was ok the first day but by Monday he was struggling in the heat, panting a lot and just not quite right. I called the vet who knew his circumstance and she told us to keep him cool and watch him, but I said I’d prefer to bring him in so they could monitor him and she agreed. We were preparing to go, I had his collar and lead on, when he lay down, put his head on the ground, sighed, and took his final breath. I was devastated. We knew he was ill but had never anticipated this. We put him in his basket and took to him to the vet. I walked into the reception, said they were expecting us but that he had died and was in the car. I’m not sure who burst into tears first, the receptionist or me, but we both stood there bawling. The vet nurse came out to the car and took him through to the examination room. They were so lovely and took care of everything. We left him there and went home with just Athos the miniature. After trying all day, we finally got hold of the owners and broke the sad news to them. It was awful. The poor little one had never been without his friend and was obviously lost, crying for him at night and needing lots of cuddles and attention.  He wouldn’t let me out of his sight for the rest of our stay, following me everywhere like a little shadow.

 

Day Trips from Dron

 

After a dramatic start to the week we didn’t feel a lot like sight-seeing, but we were only here once, and needed to make the most of the great location.

 

We had yet to go Whisky tasting and waited until Meagan was in Scotland before we went. The day before the dog incident we went to Tullibardine distillery, not far from Dron. We were lucky to be the only ones on the tour and tasting so got a very personalised tour of the distillery. We were telling our guide about the Cooperage we’d visited, and she told us that because of the heat the barrels were starting to leak, and they have a full-time cooper onsite fixing the barrels. The unusually hot weather is also affecting barley crops which will in turn affect whisky production. If you’re paying more for your bottle of single malt in 5 years’ time blame the summer of 2018.

 

St Andrew’s was less than an hour away and was our first outing with Athos the miniature dachshund.  This compact seaside town is full of history, with castle ruins, an historic university, stone archways, cobbled lanes, an ancient abbey and distinguished churches. But it is golf that it is most famous for. This is the ‘home of golf’ and there are no fewer than 10 courses including the oldest and most iconic golf course in the world, aptly named ‘The Old Course’. We took Athos for a walk through the golf course and watched a few groups play through. Athos is tiny but struts along like he’s 10 foot tall and everyone stops to admire him. An American tourist even asked to photograph him. He posed obligingly.

 

Friends from home, BK and Roanna, were in Edinburgh for a couple of days and we met up with them at the Falkirk Wheel, not far from Edinburgh. The Falkirk Wheel is the world’s only rotating boatlift, which is used to connect the Forth & Clyde and Union canals. This iconic landmark is the showpiece of the Millennium Link project which re-connected canals to make coast-to-coast navigation possible for the first time in over 40 years. The wheel replaced a series of locks that took forever to go through and it literally is a big wheel that rotates while the canal boat sits in a cradle of water, taking it from the lower canal to the upper canal. It is a magnificent, mechanical marvel and is amazing to watch.

 

We took little Athos with us again and stood on the walkway by the upper canal watching the wheel in action. We knew BK and Roanna were on a boat trip through the wheel, but it was still surreal to be standing there in the middle of Scotland and see our friends from Tauranga waving at us from the canal boat as it glided by towards the wheel. Once they were off the boat we went together to Helix Park, home of The Kelpies – two 30-metre-high horse head sculptures.  These incredibly expressive steel structures were created by artist Andy Scott and represent the mythological Kelpies, Scottish shape-shifting creatures that possess the strength and endurance of 100 horses. At the same time these sculptures pay homage to the heavy horses of Scottish industry who pulled the wagons, ploughs, barges and coal ships that shaped Falkirk and the nation. We had coffee and a good catch up while over-looked by these magnificent creatures.

 

On the way back to Dron we stopped at the site of the Battle of Bannockburn. Fought on 24 June 1314, it was one of the most famous events in the wars of Scottish independence. A bronze statue of the great Scottish leader King Robert the Bruce stands in the middle of the battle field. He’s an ancestor of mine.

 

The week came to an end and the owners returned from their holiday. Athos was overjoyed to see his family and they were equally happy to be reunited with their wriggly little man. However, their homecoming was tinged with sadness after the loss of their other dog. They were very thankful to us for handling the situation and extremely kind and understanding, but it must have been terribly difficult for them not being there when it happened.

 

We said our goodbyes, gave Athos an extra tight hug and headed south to England.

England Part 3: The Midlands & North West

After our week in Wales and with another house-sit starting in Worcestershire the next day we took the opportunity to pop up to Liverpool for the night, stopping briefly in the historic walled city of Chester.

 

Chester is a lovely town famous for the 3kms of Roman and medieval walls that encircle the historic centre and the unique “rows” of continuous half-timbered galleries filled with shops above street level. Its quaint and quirky and because of this tourists flock here, and the town responds with an abundance of touristy shops and gimmicks like the town crier.

 

Liverpool on the other hand was quite different and nothing like we expected. We both envisioned this dock-side city to be a bit rough and ready and were taken aback by the vibrant cultural hub that greeted us.

 

The pride of the city is the fantastic waterfront area where we started our visit. After checking in to our hotel we wandered down to Pier Head where the three stately buildings referred to as the Three Graces watch over the River Mersey. The Royal Liver Building, Cunard Building and Port of Liverpool Building were all built in the early 20th century and define the skyline of Liverpool. These iconic landmarks contributed to Liverpool’s waterfront becoming a UNESCO World Heritage site over a decade ago, and why this cityscape is considered one of the more beautiful in Europe.

 

Prominently placed in the square in front of these buildings is a statue of Liverpool’s most famous sons – the Beatles. We watched visitors from the cruise ship docked nearby jostle for photos beside these larger than life bronze figures, and when they moved on we got the chance for our own must-have photo. Further along the waterfront, past the futuristic white-tiled Museum of Liverpool, the navy memorial, another memorial to the horses of the docks and an art installation of a giant cat, are the historic Canning and Albert Docks. Here the red brick Maritime Museum building sits and where the story of the Titanic is told; because although she sailed from Belfast the Titanic’s managing company, the White Star Line, had its head office in Liverpool. Next to the Maritime Museum is the Tate Liverpool art gallery with free exhibitions of striking contemporary British art and nearby markets and food stalls lined the docks. It’s a colourful and energetic place.

 

Away from the waterfront the inner city is a mix of big shopping malls and outdoor pedestrian areas and in amongst it is a narrow side street; Mathew Street where the Beatles first performed at the famous Cavern Club. Mathew street is lined with bars all touting some link to the Fab Four and all with live music blaring and overflowing with mostly middle-aged patrons. A statue of John Lennon leans against a wall and there’s another of Cilla Black in a mini skirt and sporting a bob. The Beatles are everywhere in Liverpool and its obvious many of these tourists are here because of them. Buses take people to their childhood homes and around their old stomping grounds, restaurants name dishes after their songs, pubs claim ambiguous links to them, and souvenir shops heave with merchandise. The Beatles are big business. We were happy with our small dose – seeing the statue and the Cavern Club and people watching over a beer on Mathew Street. Liverpool has worked hard to shake its working-class image and the effort paid off when it was named European Capital of Culture in 2008. Since then investment has continued to flow allowing the waterfront development and public spaces to further evolve. But here in the inner city you get the feeling it is hasn’t entirely forgotten its roots, there’s still a grittiness to this city.

 

The next morning, we were up early and on the road, driving a few hours south to Upton on Severn, a small village in Worcestershire where we would be house and dog sitting for the next two weeks.

 

This is a beautiful part of England and we were lucky to enjoy a fantastic spell of weather. Between our many dog walks along those wonderful public footpaths that start at the doorstep and run for miles in every direction through picturesque countryside of barley fields and woodlands we had plenty of opportunity to explore the wider area, taking day trips to some fantastic places nearby steeped in history and natural beauty.

 

Stratford-upon-Avon

 

We were less than an hour away from Stratford-upon-Avon and it was on my priority list of places to visit. Apart from being a lovely market town by a river Stratford-upon-Avon is mostly visited for one reason – it’s the hometown of William Shakespeare. The Shakespeare Trust operates five properties of significance in the life of Shakespeare and his family and we aimed to visit as many of these as we could in the 4 or so hours we had before getting back to the dogs. We managed to squeeze in four of the sites.

 

The first was Shakespeare’s birthplace, a much bigger house than I expected and right on the main street. He was born in this house and grew up here with his parents and siblings. He also spent the first five years of his marriage living here with his wife Anne Hathaway. At the time it was the largest house on the street as the family were wealthy. The Shakespeare experience starts with an audio-visual exhibition telling the story of the life and works of the Bard before you enter the pretty garden where the house sits. Inside a guide gave us a brief history before letting us look through at our own pace. Andrew had been here years ago when he was on his OE and he could remember being shocked at how small their beds were. But after visiting many castles and historic palaces since then and seeing many tiny beds from the middle ages and earlier Shakespeare’s bed now looked surprisingly large. Understandably this cottage is a place of pilgrimage and thespians and writers have been coming here for hundreds of years. Inside is an original pane of glass from the room he was born in that is covered with graffiti dating back centuries, some of the signatories renowned artists in their own right. Back outside in the sunshine performers were reciting Shakespeare’s verses and taking requests from those watching. The actress did a wonderful Lady Macbeth.

 

Around the corner and up the road is Shakespeare’s New Place. This was his family home from 1597 until he died in the house in 1616 and was the largest house in the town. In some sort of protest over tax the house was demolished by its owners in 1759 and the site as left bare. It has now been turned into a contemporary garden and sculpture space to celebrate Shakespeare’s life and works. A guide welcomed us and gave a 10-minute talk on the history of the site and the meaning of the sculptures and gardens. The footprint of the house tells of its scale – Shakespeare lived a lavish lifestyle.

 

In the next street is Hall’s Croft. The home of Shakespeare’s daughter Susanna and her physician husband John Hall. It’s a lovely example of a timbered Jacobean home. John Hall was a physician of some renown and was compassionate and diligent, treating both rich and poor, Catholic and Protestant patients alike. Apart from a lovely house the most interesting bit was an exhibition on medicine and treatments in the 1600’s showing the practises of astronomy and blood-letting, their philosophy on mental health (depression was considered an ailment of the intelligentsia), and treatments they used made from plants, herbs, animal extracts, gemstones and rocks.

 

Our final stop was a short drive out of town at Anne Hathaway’s Cottage. A cute-as-pie thatched cottage sitting in a full and colourful garden. Originally a farmhouse, it was built in 1463 and would have comprised of just three rooms although the family were considered to be relatively wealthy at the time. Anne, later Shakespeare’s wife, was born in the cottage in 1556. The kitchen and parlour remain from the original medieval construction and the guide who showed us through told us of a fan who on hearing that Shakespeare would have walked on the floor in the kitchen fell to the ground and kissed it. He warned us the ground may not be clean so advised kissing it wasn’t the best idea. It takes all types.

 

What stands out the most when visiting these historic places is the passion and knowledge of the volunteers and staff who work there. The Shakespeare Trust was no exception and we impressed with how engaged they are with their visitors and genuinely want to tell the story of this great man and his family.

 

Hampton Court Castle

 

I have mentioned in a previous blog that my sister’s in-laws live in Malvern and visited them on the way to Wales. Well, Malvern in only a short distance from Upton so we were able to spend some more time with Patience and Robin. They kindly offered to show us around and suggested an outing to Herefordshire to visit Hampton Court Castle.

 

Not to be confused with Hampton Court Palace near London, this castle was built early in the 15th century, 100 years before the more famous palace it shares a name with. The setting is lovely; in the middle of the countryside surrounded by vast lawns, a stunning woodland backdrop, and magnificent gardens.

 

We started our visit in the walled kitchen gardens filled with all types of fruit, vegetables and herbs interspersed with bright poppies, delphinium and cosmos and then worked our way through the symmetrical Dutch garden with its striking pool and agapanthus, through to the beautiful formal gardens and under the 150-year-old wisteria arch dripping with blooms out onto the lawn and across to the castle itself where a lovely café served dishes made from produce grown in the garden.

 

After a lovely lunch Andrew and I took a tour of the castle. The oldest parts of the castle, including the Chapel, date back to 1427 but over the centuries it has been added to and its exterior is now a mish-mash of eras. Inside it is like a movie set and for good reason. In the early 90’s it was almost derelict when an American billionaire came across it and bought it for 15 million pounds. He spent another 15 million on refurbishment and as his only reference of what an English castle should look like came from Hollywood the décor he created is based far more on fiction than fact. The handmade chandeliers represent giant chess pieces, suits of armour from the Last Knight line the halls, book shelves hide secret doors, and an array of stuffed animal heads from all over the globe hang on walls and sit on shelves, including George the lion who died of natural causes at a nearby zoo. It is whimsical and fantastical – Alice in Wonderland meets Sir Lancelot. It made us smile.  Unfortunately, the American died and for years the castle waited unused for a new owner. Finally, a family from the Isle of Man bought it and it was them who opened it to the public. It’s now a popular venue for weddings and events.

 

Back outside Robin had another surprise for us – a maze! He challenged us to find our way through and up the Gothic tower in the centre. Easier said than done, and much to my annoyance Mr Love beat me! Under the tower a hidden passageway lead through to a secret sunken garden and making it even more magical the path went behind a waterfall. It’s no wonder this place is a favourite with Patience and Robin’s grandchildren.

 

Towns and Villages on the River Severn

 

Upton, Worcester and Tewksbury all lie on the River Severn and were all within easy reach for short visits.

 

We were staying just out of Upton so visited this charming village on a few occasions. This lovely little town of less than 3,000 has been plagued by floods over the years and work to build flood protection is ongoing. They must be resilient in Upton as the floods haven’t beaten them and they take a lot of pride in the town’s appearance. Hanging baskets and half-barrels filled with colourful flowers are all through the town and the shop fronts are tidy and traditional. The annual jazz festival was on while we were there, and we went along one afternoon to see what it was like. The actual performances were held at various venues around the town but there was live music on the river bank and the roads were closed to traffic to make way for food stalls and markets. It wasn’t overly busy, but it was lively and relaxed and a nice way to spend a couple of hours on a hot summer’s afternoon.

 

Tewkesbury was our main shopping town as it had a Morrisons and an Aldi supermarket. It lies where the River Avon meets the Severn and is a quaint historic town of almost 11,000. Tewkesbury Abbey is the most notable building; an imposing feature of the town’s landscape for nearly 900 years. It’s a striking building with a Norman tower, ornate 12th century ceiling and stunning stained-glass windows. It is a popular place to visit and every time we drove by tour buses were lined up outside.

 

Worcester, a lovely Cathedral and University City further up the River Severn, is ten times bigger than Tewkesbury. It’s filled with historic buildings, has lots of narrow cobbled lanes lined with boutiques and its big enough to have all the high street brands with plenty of dedicated pedestrians shopping areas. We took the opportunity to buy a few summer essentials in the sales. Worcester also has what is touted as one of England’s loveliest cathedrals, with Royal Tombs including King John’s, medieval cloisters, an ancient crypt and magnificent Victorian stained glass. We have seen many cathedrals on our visits and some still manage to wow us, this was one.

 

Villages of the Cotswolds

 

Another day trip was spent visiting the enchanting villages and hamlets in the Cotswolds, one of England’s Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty. Each village was unique, but all were picture-perfect and filled with honey-hued cottages, many with thatched rooves.

 

We started in Broadway in the north of the Cotswolds and made our way south. Broadway is a tiny town with a main street lined with immaculate stone houses made of that distinctive local yellow limestone, and with smart shops and a handful of cosy pubs. Then it was through Chipping Campden with its elegant terraced houses and stone market hall and on to Stow-on-the-Wold, a lovely village with loads of antique shops brimming with knick-knacks and artefacts. Further into the rural heart of Cotswolds, where the finest wool in England was once produced, the rolling countryside is a rich green, criss-crossed by dry stone walls and dotted with sheep. After lunch in Moreton-in-Marsh it was through to the most touristy of the villages, Bourton-on-the-Water. It’s touristy for a reason, it’s so darned cute. Arched walking bridges cross the shallow waters of the Windrush river which meanders through the centre of the village. Ice-cream shops and galleries line one side of the river and trees on the other. It looks like a toy village and funnily enough one of the attractions here is the famous model village, a detailed replica of Bourton-on-the-Water.

 

Northleach was the last of the villages we visited with its historic St Peter and St Paul church. This is a wool church, a church financed primarily by donations from rich merchants and farmers who had benefitted from the mediaeval wool trade. Northleach is another gorgeous quaint village stuck in a time long passed, but it mustn’t be as popular with tourists as we were almost alone when visiting the church and town square.

 

On the edge of the Cotswolds lies the city of Cheltenham. We didn’t visit on this day but instead went back one evening for a BBQ at Andrew’s cousin Matt’s place. Matt and Emma and their boys live in a lovely home in Cheltenham and having the beautiful Cotswolds on their doorstep is a definite advantage.

 

Three Counties Show

 

One of the highlights of our time in this part of England was visiting the famous Royal Three Counties Show in Malvern. This show is like an A&P show on steroids – it was huge, and every part of country life was there to experience. Every breed of sheep, cow, pig, hen, rabbit, duck, horse, goat and llama was on display and there are more types than we’d ever imagined possible. I’d never seen an orange sheep before and certainly not one with a black face – a Jaffa sheep. It was quite amusing watching the serious practice of judging “best of breed” take place with the judges carefully deliberating which giant rabbit best represented its type before placing a rosette on the poor animal while the proud breeder beamed.

 

There were country pursuits of all kinds: wildflower displays, baking competitions, falconry, sheep dogs, herding ducks, archery, blacksmith horse-shoeing competitions, sheering competitions, tractors pulling over logs, pole climbing championships and heavy horses pulling everything and anything. In the main arena we watched a swarm of Shetland ponies racing in an exciting mini Grand National, the Red Devils parachute regiment landing in dramatic fashion complete with red smoke, and the very impressive grand parade of livestock. It was a fantastic day out.

 

A week later we went back to the showgrounds for an antiques fair that reminded us a lot of Antiques Roadshow.

 

Lake District

 

Two weeks had past and the homeowners returned to an overwhelming greeting from three bouncy dogs. Our job was done, it was time for us to hit the road and head north towards Scotland via the Lake District.

 

Like many children Beatrix Potter’s characters played a big part in my childhood and I was looking forward to visiting her home, Hill Top farm in the Lake District. She had holidayed in the Lake District with her family and loved it so much that when she started making money on her books she bought Hill Top with the proceeds. Characters such as Tom Kitten, Samuel Whiskers and Jemima Puddleduck were all created here, and the books contain many pictures based on the house and garden. When Beatrix Potter died she left Hill Top to the National Trust on the provision the 17th century farmhouse and cottage garden were kept exactly as she left it.  She was a true conservationist who was staunchly protective of the Lake District and its environment. She used her wealth to strategically buy up property in the area to stop the encroachment of industry and after her death she left it all to the National Trust with strict conditions on its use. Her legacy is a part of England that is caught in time, protected from development and forever beautiful.

 

A short drive from Hill Top is the village of Hawkshead where Beatrix moved when she married a country solicitor at the age of 47. It’s a charming village of pretty whitewashed cottages and here in the former solicitor’s office is the Beatrix Potter Gallery, devoted to her work. There are some lovely original sketches of those memorable animal characters and letters filled with imaginative narrative.

 

It was such a hot day, over 30 degrees and no wind, but we were determined to get out and enjoy some of the lush countryside so headed to Tarn Hows. This small lake sits in a shallow valley with splendid views of the mountains and is skirted by a 2.5km track. We took a very sedate walk around the tarn lingering under the trees as long as we could.

 

Further on, past the tourist hot-spot of Ambleside, is Dove Cottage, sitting on the edge of Lake Grasmere. This was the home of William Wordsworth and where he enjoyed a golden age of creativity penning many of his famous poems including “I wandered lonely as a cloud”. He lived here first with sister and then joined by his wife and over time this small lakeside cottage hosted some prestigious guests including poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge and novelists Sir Walter Scott and Thomas de Quincy. It’s easy to see how they were inspired, this is an idyllic spot.

 

We drove on to the village Keswick on Derwentwater. It was this lake that inspired another children’s author, Arthur Ransome, whose classic Swallows and Amazons stories were set in this beautiful landscape. We had booked into a hotel around the bay and walked through the fields to town. Keswick is another very picturesque village in a stunning setting. It’s a slower pace of life in the Lake District.

 

The next day we finished our visit to the Lake District with a stop in Cockermouth to see Wordsworth House where the poet spent his childhood. We were having a coffee while we were waiting for the house to open and I noticed an official looking chap standing by our car. Andrew went to investigate and was told by the parking warden that we were in a “disc parking zone” – a 30-pound offence! We had no idea what a disc parking zone was, and the sign said 1-hour parking, so we assumed it was free. Apparently disc parking is where you place a clock-shaped disc in the front window of the car showing what time you arrived. The disc doesn’t cost anything, it’s just a sort of honesty system. I suppose ignorance is no excuse. Anyway, that took the gloss off our visit to Wordsworth House.

 

Time to leave England for a couple of weeks and head on through to Scotland.

Our Week in Wales

I admit, I have never given Wales much thought as a potential holiday destination. Grey skies, cold wind and lots of rain came to mind when Wales was mentioned. But, we are here to see all of Britain and with a week before we started another house-sit in Worcestershire we headed off on a road trip around Wales.

 

Andrew, who has briefly been to Wales before, shared my preconceived views and thought we’d only need a few days at most to see the place. We were wrong. Wales was wonderful, and a week wasn’t long enough. We were blessed with great weather which helped, but all the same this is a remarkable little country with stunning scenery, unique wildlife, pretty villages, fearsome stone castles, welcoming people and a lovely language. We left singing its praises and will continue to do so, encouraging others to visit this endearing and underrated part of Britain.

 

Here’s how our week-long road trip panned out:

 

Monday:

 

Our first destination was Cardiff, the capital of Wales. This was to be a short stop for a couple of hours sightseeing before heading off along the southern coast.

 

In the centre of Cardiff is the famous Cardiff Castle. Built in the late 11th century by Norman invaders on top of a 3rd-century Roman fort, it has been around for long time and like all ancient castles has a colourful history. In the 18th century it passed into the hands of the noble Stuart family who secured the skills of famous English landscaper Capability Brown and architect Henry Holland who turned it into a palatial Georgian mansion. The family became super-wealthy thanks to coal and a couple of generations later John Crichton-Stuart lavished a huge amount of money on renovating the castle again, this time in the Gothic revival style that was all the rage. The castle is now a mish-mash of ages and styles – at once a Roman fort, an impressive castle and an extraordinary Victorian Gothic fantasy palace.

 

Just around the corner from the castle is the Cardiff stadium. Cardiff has hosted games for four separate rugby world cup tournaments, more than any other city and Principality Stadium, once called Millennium Stadium, has been the stage for some historic moments in rugby, including one of New Zealand’s darkest hours. The Welsh love rugby and it’s here in the streets around this iconic stadium where this is more evident than ever. Shops brim with rugby memorabilia, pubs are named after rugby greats, and even the historic St John the Baptist Church proudly boasts that it is a “rugby church”, encouraging visitors to look for the rugby balls carved into the interior woodwork. Andrew took me to find the Angel Hotel where late night events in 1972 lead to one of the more intriguing and sad stories in All Black history. It was at this unassuming hotel, after celebrating a win over Wales, that All Black prop Keith Murdoch got into an altercation with a security guard and ended up on a plane back to New Zealand in disgrace. The twist in the story is that he never arrived home, disappearing for many years before finally turning up in outback Australia. Never fully recovering from how he was treated after that night he led a reclusive life and died earlier this year.

 

Like most cities in this part of the world Cardiff is a blend of modern and historic. The heart of the city is busy and vibrant with plenty of pedestrian zones making it easy to explore. We enjoyed the couple of hours we spent there, but we weren’t in Wales to see cities. We wanted to get out to the provinces and experience the real Wales. Back in the car we headed west following the coast to Laugharne.

 

Laugharne is a picturesque coastal village filled with lovely Georgian cottages and set on the Taf Estuary. During Elizabethan times Laugharne was larger than Cardiff and remained an English-speaking village within Wales. The town and coastline are dominated by the imposing dark grey ruins of the 13th century Laugharne Castle.

 

Welsh Poet and Playwright Dylan Thomas lived here with his family for the last four years of his life. Catering to the interest in the poet there is a Thomas trail around the town. We took the trail along the edge of the estuary to his former home, the Boathouse. The Boathouse looks out across Carmarthen Bay which has a muted beauty that could inspire words in anyone. 100 metres away from the small family home is his modest writing study in a garage on the cliff edge. This was where he wrote major pieces including his famous play Under Milkwood. The trail continued up behind the town to the church where Dylan Thomas is buried – a simple white cross marks the spot, his name inscribed in black calligraphy.

 

From here we drove around the coast to Pendine, a seaside resort town made up almost entirely of portable holiday homes, or mobile homes as they’re called here. Pendine is best known for the expansive flat beach used for land-speed record attempts. Malcom Campbell in Bluebird reached 235kph in 1924 and then 280kph in 1927. Campbell’s grandson set a UK electric car land-speed record here in 2000.

 

Around a couple more bays, through narrow country lanes and we arrived in Tenby, the charming 9th century walled town sitting atop a cliff. Tenby is a tourist host-spot and it’s easy to see why: a quaint historic town with narrow cobbled lanes encased by stone walls and rows of colourful townhouses lining the cliff overlooking a golden sandy beach where wooden sailing boats lay on their sides. It was a delightful place with an air of nostalgia.

 

Tenby marks the start of the Pembrokeshire Coast National Park that we were going to explore next.

 

We left Tenby and drove the short distance to Pembroke for the night. It had been a long day. We had been advised to make sure we tell people we’re New Zealanders, so they don’t assume we’re English. It certainly worked at our B&B in Pembroke. Our host was very welcoming and loved that we were visiting from down under, his son had spent time surfing in NZ and loved it. We took his advice on a good pub to try and walked off along Mill Pond towards Pembroke Castle find it.

Tuesday:

 

We started the day by heading to the little village of Bosherton to find St Govan’s Chapel, an historic stone church built into a steep cliff on the southernmost tip of Pembrokeshire. The area around these cliffs is a defence training zone and unfortunately, they were training that day and access to the chapel was prohibited.  Instead, we walked along the cliffs in the opposite direction. It was empty and windswept.

 

Next it was on to Solva, a cute little village of brightly coloured buildings tucked at the head of an inlet. It was once a smuggling port and you can see why; the inlet is narrow and long and very discreet. It was the perfect place for our picnic lunch. The town only has a few shops but they’re all beautiful galleries and artisan boutiques selling the works of local artists. I was captivated by a stunning wooden carving of a diving gannet. It was hard to resist but Mr Love was quick to remind me of the logistics and cost of getting it home.

 

Our final stop for the day was St David’s, Britain’s smallest city. More of a village than a city it gets its status from having a cathedral. It is a lovely spot and as the weather was good we decided to camp here for a couple of nights. We found a great campsite on a farm not far from the village, right on the cliff top with breath-taking views across the sea.  Another reason we wanted to stay two nights was that I had my heart set on seeing puffins and off the coast of Pembrokeshire is Skomer Island, where thousands of puffins were nesting. The next boat trip to Skomer Island was on Thursday morning and we booked our spots.

 

It gets a bit tiresome eating out all the time so cooking our own food on the BBQ was a welcome change. Maybe its the fresh air but camping tucker always tastes great.

Wednesday:

 

We woke to more blue sky and sunshine on Wednesday, perfect for a walk along part of the Pembrokeshire Coast National Trail. This popular walkway is part of the trail that runs along the entire coastline of Wales and conveniently the track ran along the cliffs in front of the campsite.

 

The path winds along the top of the craggy grey rock face with only a thin strip of wildflowers and moss between you and the crystal-clear waters below. Some parts of the cliffs had eroded, and the path became all the more precarious. Along the way we passed St Non’s chapel, a tiny stone chapel dedicated to St David’s mother. In the adjacent paddock is Capel Non, remains of a 7th– 9th century stone house built on the spot where St David is said to have been born. The well beside it sprung to life when the saint was born in 500AD and is said to have restorative powers. We weren’t going to let that pass and gulped the icy water from cupped hands.

 

We continued around the cliffs to Porth Clais inlet, a tiny harbour where a few small boats were moored. From there we cut back inland through paddocks of waist high grass ready to be cut for hay, along paths lined with overgrown hedgerows and dotted with magenta foxgloves as tall as us, to St David’s Cathedral. Built from local purple-red stone on the site of a 6th century monastery the cathedral has been a major pilgrimage site hundreds of years. Two trips to St David’s equalled one to Rome. This 12th century cathedral is of grand scale with a magnificent interior. It would not be out of place in any European city. But here it is, sitting in rural Wales on the edge of a small rustic village with cows grazing next to it.

 

We walked back up through the town past ice-cream vendors making a mint from tourists, through Cross Square where knitted poppies hung from the war memorial, and along the lane back to the campsite.

 

Later that afternoon we drove to small coastal hamlet of Porthgain. This was once a commercial port used for exporting stone from the nearby quarry and the stone wharf and seawall remain. The small cluster of houses here are mostly holiday lets, and there’s a smart restaurant, art gallery and pub. The day was waning, but the sun was still warm and the deck on the pub too enticing – perfect for a well-deserved ale.

 

Thursday:

 

We packed up the tent, put on our warm clothes for the boat trip and were just about to go when my phone rang, and I was told our tour had been cancelled. A group had pulled out and they didn’t have enough people to make it viable. The next one was in two days’ time. I was bitterly disappointed. It was another stunning day and it would have been perfect for puffin spotting. We couldn’t wait around for the next trip. We only had a week before our next house-sit back in England and there was a lot more of Wales to see. Would have to find puffins somewhere else.

 

Feeling a bit glum we started out, driving off around the coast through the picturesque towns of Fishguard and Newport and then north over beautiful green countryside, rolling hills dotted with sheep and very much like New Zealand.

 

We were heading to the Snowdonia National Park in the north of Wales. At the edge of Snowdonia is Machynlleth, the historic market town where Owain Glyndwr first assembled his parliament and was crowned Prince of Wales in 1404. It was also here where he went into hiding and subsequently disappeared after failing in his revolt against the English during the reign of Henry IV. Once through Machynlleth we were in in the National Park and driving through forests to the pretty town of Dolgellau filled with the charming rough-cut grey stone buildings that are prevalent in this part of Wales.

 

It doesn’t take long to notice the language in these parts. Most obviously, all the signs across the country are in Welsh, but here in the north, Welsh is spoken in the streets and shops and even announcements in the supermarket are in Welsh before English. It’s refreshing and something New Zealand could learn from.

 

After a picnic lunch in a park in Dolgellau we continued, coming across the historic Penmaenpool toll bridge not far down the road. This lovely old wooden bridge was built in 1879 to replace the ferry and is privately owned. The man at the toll booth proudly told us the history before charging us 70p and reminding us that it is one lane and made of wood, so you need to drive slowly.

 

Our destination for the night was Barmouth on the coast. Barmouth lies on the estuary of the River Mawddach and Cardigan Bay and is a popular holiday spot. The beaches are beautiful, sandy and golden and nothing like we expected. Once again, we were reminded of New Zealand. It was a warm, still evening and we walked along the seafront, watching dogs chase balls, and through the sleepy village to the estuary where kids were catching fish off the wharf. It was peaceful and unhurried.

Friday:

 

Our first stop of the day was Harlech Castle, an impressive grey rock castle built on a bluff strategically overlooking Tyremadog Bay. This castle was built in the late 1200’s by Edward I’s master mason James of St George, who was a prolific castle builder in this part of Wales and most of the famous Welsh fortifications can be attributed to him. Owain Glyndwr was also here –  he used this as his parliament building in 1404 but was cast out during a siege in 1408. There were not many people about when we visited, and it was an overcast day with a faint mist, for a moment I could almost hear the clanking of armour and the heavy breath of horses, or was that the flapping of dragon wings in the clouds above?

 

Our drive continued back inland through to Beddgelert, a very pretty village on the river Glaslyn surrounded by forest. A rustic bridge is the centrepiece of the town and hanging baskets burst with colour against the dark grey stone buildings. It is an immaculately kept village. A short walk south of the village is Beddgelert’s most famous historical feature; ‘Gelert’s Grave’. According to legend, the stone monument in the field marks the resting place of ‘Gelert’, the faithful hound of the medieval Welsh Prince Llewelyn the Great. The prince returned from hunting to be greeted by his dog with a mouth covered in blood and his sons cradle empty. He immediately assumed the dog had killed the child and plunged a sword into his heart. At that moment he heard the child’s cry and found him safely lying beside the body of a slain wolf. Gelert had killed the wolf to save the child. There is a lesson in this story.

 

Not far past Beddgelert the forest gave way to tussock and the mountains rose up. This part of Snowdonia is astonishingly beautiful, and I must say it again, very much like New Zealand. We drove through the mountains, over the pass and down to Llanberis. This is where The Snowdon Mountain Railway leaves to go to the summit of Wales’ highest mountain, Mount Snowdon. There were crowds of people outside the station and tour buses were coming and going one after another. I ran in to ask about tickets and was told all the tickets were sold out for the day, but some were available for the next afternoon. Great, with a bit of a reshuffle of our plans that would suit nicely. I bought two one-way tickets.

 

With our plans changed slightly we left Snowdonia and drove through to Caernarfon to see another famous castle. Caernarfon castle is another built by James of St George and is a very fine example of a medieval fortification. It proudly sits on the water’s edge next to the historic walled town. Mr Love rolled his eyes at my excitement about ABC (another bloody castle) but I can’t get enough of them. These Welsh castles are straight from the pages of a book or movie screen. Marvellous!

 

The northwest corner of Wales is made up of islands. The first and largest is Anglesey which is connected to the mainland by a bridge. Further on is Holy Island where we were heading next. On the far west point of Holy Island is South Stack Cliffs, a nature reserve where thousands of seabirds nest and among them are puffins. The reserve is run by the non-profit Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB). We arrived at the visitor centre and like most people there asked to see the puffins. The volunteers did their best to extol the virtues of the handsome razorbills and elegant guillemots who nest here in their thousands, but we weren’t convinced. We were here to see their comical cousins, the puffins. At the viewing area we had to admit the sight of the swarms of razorbills and guillemots clinging to the cliffs where their nests were precariously perched was quite overwhelming and the noise incredible. Further around the cliffs and down path to the lighthouse was the place to see the puffins. There are only six pairs nesting here and unlike their cousins they nest in holes, not on the cliff face, so the chances of seeing one was remote. Some avid birdwatchers were at the puffin-viewing spot when we arrived, enthusiastically counting different bird types. We asked them if the puffins were about and they tried to point out a burrow on a ledge. We couldn’t see anything. Then a volunteer came to the rescue and handed us his binoculars. Andrew was first to spot a puffin popping his head out of his hole. I wasn’t happy. I used the zoom on my camera to get a closer view and finally there he was. He came out of his hole, waddled across the ledge, looked around (probably wondering why all the other birds look nothing like him) and then clumsily jumped off the cliff. They are not the most graceful in flight; with their stubby wings flapping wildly it’s surprising they stay up. Our volunteer friend, who happened to have spent four years living in Dunedin, told us they are much more graceful underwater and have a lot of similarities to the Little Blue Penguin. We were lucky enough to see another two puffins before we finally pulled ourselves away. I was happy, I’d seen my puffins. But I still may persuade Mr Love to go on another puffin hunt in Scotland.

 

That night we stayed near Holyhead in a self-contained apartment attached to a couple’s home. They were excellent hosts and as always, it’s great to chat with locals.

Saturday:

 

With our tickets booked on the 2.30 train to the summit of Mount Snowden, we headed back into the national park and through towards Betws-y-Coed, the main village in Snowdonia National Park. On the way we stopped at Swallow Falls where the river Llugwy flows through a narrow chasm creating spectacular multiple waterfalls. It’s a very pretty spot amongst the beech trees but were surprised to be charged a pound to walk down to the falls. At first, we thought it was cheeky but then decided maybe it was a good idea. As long as the locals are free is there anything wrong with charging a nominal fee for tourists to visit an area? It pays for the upkeep.

 

Betws-y-Coed is pretty, but very touristy and being a Saturday most of Wales and some of England had come for a drive into the mountains. We found a cafe that had recently won an award for their traditional Welsh food and thought that would be perfect for lunch. Andrew had Welsh Rarebit and I had Anglesey Eggs with leeks – very nice.

 

After lunch we headed back to Llanberis for our train trip up Mount Snowdon. The plan was to take the train to the top and then walk back down. The summit is 1,085 metres high and the train took an hour to shunt us up the steep track. The views were lovely from the train, but I did feel a bit lazy seeing as so many people were on the walking track. Oh well, it saved our knees. The station at the top is Britain’s highest building and is designed to blend into the mountain terrain. The building may be discreet, but the summit was crowded with people and litter. We didn’t linger, quickly finding the right path and starting our descent. My thoughts about saving our knees were quickly proved wrong as the first part of the track was extremely steep and very slow going. Andrew was pleased he’d thought to bring his tramping pole. Some of the people we passed were struggling and looked like they’d not done much walking at all, and definitely not on a mountain. If you looked past the string of people extending down mountain path and out to the spectacular views out across the mountains you could almost believe that out there it was wild and desolate and empty.

 

It took two hours to walk down and it was six when we finally got to the car. We had booked a B&B in Llandudno 45 minutes away and by the time we finally got there it was after seven.

 

Llandudno is Wales’ largest seaside resort and lies in a wide bay sheltered by two limestone headlands. The town was laid out in 1849 and with its grand buildings, sweeping promenade and ornate pier it was considered one of the most elegant resorts in Europe. Our B&B was in a graceful old dame of a building that appeared to have been left unchanged since the glamour days, as did our hostess. But it was comfortable and clean and close to town.

 

The sun was still shining giving us time to look around the town and have a drink in the sun before dinner. Thank goodness for these lovely long summer evenings.

Sunday:

 

We were due at our next house-sit midday on Monday but as we weren’t far from Liverpool we planned to spend Sunday afternoon there. So, with only the morning left in Wales and still a couple of places on the must-see list we hit the road early.

 

Our first stop was another castle. Conwy Castle sits at the mouth of an estuary and was another built by James of St George. The castle and medieval town walls of Conwy have Word Heritage status and are considered Britain’s finest example of a fortified town with 21 towers, three double gateways and a 1280m long wall. The setting is particularly picturesque, and it may have just topped my list of favourite castles in Wales.

 

Our final stop, a small detour on the way up to Liverpool, was the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct – a bridge that carries the Llangollen Canal across the River Dee in north east Wales. The 18-arched stone and cast-iron structure, which took ten years to design and build, was completed in 1805 and is considered a pioneering feat in engineering. We first saw the aqueduct from below, looking up at canal boats cruising across from one side of the valley to the other high above us. It’s a surreal sight. We then walked over the aqueduct, there’s a path that runs beside the waterway. At the same time a few boats were going across and Andrew got talking to the skipper of one who invited him on board. I was busy taking photos and I turned around to see Andrew sailing off along the canal. Not to be outdone I asked if I could hitch a ride on another boat. It was an odd feeling to be standing on a boat floating on water and looking over the edge of a bridge to a river flowing far below, and I don’t have a head for heights!

 

And as quickly as that our road trip around Wales had come to an end. What a week it had been. We were more enchanted by this little country in the west than we ever would have imagined. Welcoming and whimsical, we were wooed by Wales.

 

Now, we’re off to Liverpool.

England Part 1: Changing Tack

Time has flown, and a lot has happened since we arrived back in England on Sunday April 29th.

 

After arriving in Dover our first task was to sell the campervan, so we could get underway with our UK tour by car. We’d only allowed a week for this as it had already been on Autotrader for 10 days and the phone calls were coming in thick and fast. We had no doubt we’d sell it quickly.

 

Andrew has relatives in the small village of Lyminge in Kent, not far from Folkestone, and this was where we based ourselves for the first week and a bit. His cousin Steve passed away last year, and Steve’s wife Trish was kind enough to lend us her house for a week while she spent the week at her son’s near London. Having this space to get ourselves organised for the next leg of our trip was fantastic. We had a lot of gear to sort through in an attempt to downsize from a 7.5metre van to a hatchback. Two suitcases of clothes were shipped back to NZ and others dropped at the local charity shop.

 

We were right, the van sold quickly and by the end of the week the deal was done. Funnily enough a New Zealand couple, Mike and Lois, bought it. Now retired, they plan to spend six months every year in Europe. We were chuffed the van was going to other Kiwis and it was very beneficial to be paid in NZ dollars, avoiding any foreign currency transfer fees. They wanted our bikes, so we agreed to throw them in along with some extra bits and pieces, which saved us the trouble of trying to sell them separately or ship them home. When Mike and Lois finally came to collect the van the following Tuesday it was hard not get emotional and there was a lump in our throats watching “our van” drive off down the street and disappear around the corner. But, at the same time it was nice to know that Mike and Lois will be taking it on many more adventures.

 

Even with a lot of the week being taken up with van-related activities we still made time to catch up with family in the area and get out into the beautiful Kent countryside. Public walkways through the fields and woodlands are everywhere in England and at this time of the year it is truly lovely to be outdoors – hedgerows lush with growth and blossoms and bluebells in abundance. And there’s always the bonus of stumbling upon a quaint country pub at the end of the trail.

 

Our mode of transport for the UK leg of our journey is a rental car and with the campervan sold and having significantly reduced our luggage we were ready to set off. We’re spending just over three months in England, Wales and Scotland and the plan for accommodation for this part of the journey is a combination of camping, B&B’s and house-sitting.

 

Our first destination was the Norfolk Broads in the east of England where we planned to reacquaint ourselves with camping. As it was late afternoon when we left Lyminge we decided to stop for the night in Ipswich on the way. With Ipswich being inland we were surprised and disorientated to find signs through the town with directions to an historic waterfront and were more surprised to find a marina stocked with yachts and a well-developed waterfront area complete with bars, restaurants and apartments. This harbour is part of the river Orwell which turns into an estuary at Ipswich and although it’s still 10km to the mouth of the river is wide enough and deep enough to navigate sizeable boats through, giving the town the illusion of being coastal – a redeeming feature for an otherwise ordinary town.

 

The next morning, we were off to Norwich and were both immediately taken by this lovely town.  It has everything you could ask for – a castle, a cathedral, charming cobbled lanes lined with quaint historic shops and a 900-year-old market. City volunteers stood on street corners handing out maps and answering questions. We were advised to visit the castle and cathedral so headed off in that direction. There have been so many grand cathedrals throughout our travels and Andrew is tiring of them a bit, but obligingly he followed me through the streets to the imposing Norwich Cathedral. The rule is, if the entry is free he’ll come in with me otherwise he leaves it to me. Norwich Cathedral had free entrance and we were greeted at the door with a very warm welcome. The greeter recognised our accents and waxed lyrical about the beauty of New Zealand before explaining the history of the place and enthusiastically telling us of the peregrine falcons nesting in the spire, the second-tallest spire in the UK that is. It was a lovely building and worth the visit, although we didn’t see any falcons. We walked back into town past the castle and through to Norwich market which proved a great choice for lunch – amazing Vietnamese fusion noodle soup eaten on a step in the sun. Andrew was quick to notice that nearly everyone else was eating piles of chips and other unidentifiable deep-fried objects. The English love their chips, and it shows.

 

It was time to head out of town and into nature. The Norfolk Broads are Britain’s largest nationally protected wetland – a network of rivers, lakes (broads) and marshes teeming with plant and birdlife. Amazingly enough they are man-made. They are the result of medieval peat mines being flooded. Peat was dug in east Norfolk up until the 14th century, when finally, nature proved too strong and the massive holes that had been created gradually began to fill with water until peat extraction was no longer possible. What was left was 200 kilometres of navigable waterway that have become a recreational wonderland.  We spent two relaxing nights camping at a farm near the village of Belton, surrounded by the wetlands. We spent our time doing not much apart from a few walks through the wetlands, past historic windmills, ruins of ancient fortifications and stone churches, piebald gypsy cobs grazing in the fields and loads of birds of all shapes and sizes. The land here is so flat that from a distance the boats sailing along the waterways look like they’re floating over the fields.

 

Neither of us had been camping for a very long time and we were unsure how we’d cope. We surprised ourselves, we loved it and will definitely be being doing more of it.

 

When we left Kent, we had two weeks before our first UK house-sitting stint started and compiled a list of places to visit before then, so after two nights camping we packed up and headed north towards Lincoln. On our way, in the north of Norfolk not far from the Broads, was Sandringham House, the private residence of the Queen and the country retreat of four generations of monarchs since 1862. This is where the Queen and the royal family spend Christmas. Each year photos come out showing the family walking from the house to St Mary Magdalene Church in the grounds of Sandringham Estate, accompanied by the gossip about who has or hasn’t been invited for Christmas that year. It was a beautiful day, and the estate was looking splendid, flourishing with summer growth. Surprisingly there were not too many tourists around. The warm welcome at the gate house ticket office continued through to the house itself where guides in each of the rooms struck up conversation the moment we entered and happily answered all our questions. We were taken aback by how friendly and relaxed the atmosphere was. The house is exactly as it is when the Queen is in residence, which is both oddly voyeuristic and intriguing. At the entrance of the house is an exquisite statue of the Queen’s horse Estimate, winner of Royal Ascot’s Gold Cup in 2013. The real Estimate lives nearby at the Queen’s Royal Stud. Along the path past beautifully manicured box hedges are the old stables that have been converted into a museum housing some exquisite vintages cars, most of them purpose built for accommodating hunting parties on the estate. The expansive park-like grounds are stunning and the gardens beautiful, it’s no surprise over 200 people earn a living from the Estate, including farmers, foresters, gamekeepers and gardeners.

 

From Sandringham we drove through to Lincoln. It was late, and we went straight to our accommodation at a pub on the outskirts of town. The next morning, we spent a couple of hours exploring this pretty market town. It’s another with the “works” –  a magnificent medieval cathedral and castle, and quaint white-washed half-timbered houses on winding cobbled lanes strung with Union Jack bunting. Understandably this town is very popular with tourists and most popular is the famous Steep Hill, the street that connects St Marks Shopping precinct ‘downhill’ and the Cathedral Quarter ‘uphill’. Yes, it is very steep as its name suggests, but so very cute.

 

Next it was on to another famous piece of England that needs no explanation – Sherwood Forest. We walked through the oak forest and visited the famous Major Oak that is around 1,000 years old and would have watched over Robin Hood and his Merry Men when they ruled this forest. It looks like its days may be numbered as its heavy limbs are being held up by wooden supports, but it is still incredibly beautiful. Further on, the forest opened on to Edmonstowe cricket ground where a provincial village cricket match was underway. We sat and watched for a while and got talking to one of the club members who suggested Andrew might want a game as they were one man down. Maybe not said Mr Love. A quick visit to the church where Robin Hood supposedly married Maid Marion and we were on our way to nearby Kirkby in Ashfield where we had booked a room in an old Police Station turned B&B.

 

The next morning the sun was shining, and we were off to the Peak District. The Peak District became a national park in 1951, the first in the country and despite being in the heart of industrialised England it feels very remote with a stunning landscape of rolling hills criss-crossed by stone walls and dotted with sheep, and with steep wooded valleys concealing rivers. It was a glorious late spring day, perfect to get be outdoors. I’d seen a walk in a guidebook through the Dovedale gorge and we set out to find it. Everyone else had the same idea. After winding our way through narrow lanes and up and down hills we came to the picturesque village of Ilam, a cluster of Swiss-style cottages at the foot of a hill, where the Dovedale walk began. The parking lot was almost full, and they were charging 3 pound a car. We are quickly discovering that in England parking is never free. We paid and set off along the valley – with every man and his dog. Yes, it was lovely walking along the Dove river and the limestone gorge was very picturesque, but there were just so many people and there was even a queue to cross the river at the ancient stepping stones.

 

Thankfully there were a lot less people a few miles up the road at the Arbor Low Stone Circle. This is a Neolithic henge monument from between 3,000 and 5,000 years ago. Made up from around 50 limestone megaliths which were excavated from a nearby Stone Age quarry the circle sits on a small hill in the middle of a lush dairy farm. The access is through the farm yard for a token payment of a pound to the farmer. The huge rocks are mostly lying on their sides, but the circle is still perfectly intact and its fascinating to wonder what sort of ceremonies took place here all those years ago. Andrew rolled his eyes at being dragged up to see a “couple of rocks”, but secretly I think he was impressed.

 

We continued our drive through the prettiest countryside and through story-book villages. Bakewell was particularly cute, a charming little town bustling with activity. That night we stayed in Buxton in an old Georgian guest house on the edge of the Pavillion Gardens. Buxton is unlike the other towns in villages in the area, instead of quaint and cute it is elegant and even a bit opulent. It has been famous for its mineral waters sine Roman times and was transformed in the 1780’s when the fifth Duke of Devonshire decided to create a stylish spa here in imitation of Bath and commissioned elegant Neo-classical buildings. Buxton remained popular in the 19th century gaining the lovely Pavilion Gardens and the ornate 1905 Opera House which is still used for many West End productions that visit the area. The baths are now a shopping centre with beautiful Victorian tiles. We took the suggestion from the landlady and had a very good curry for dinner. Back at the B&B we couldn’t get into our room. We tried both keys multiple times and much to our frustration neither worked. Finally, we called landlady who was out enjoying her only night away from the B&B in weeks and dragged her back to have her simply turn the key and let us in. Well, we felt a bit stupid.

 

The next day we wound our way down through the Peak District with more incredible views, and through to the village of Ironbridge on the banks of the River Severn. The village got its name from the bridge that straddles the river, the world’s first cast iron bridge erected in 1779. This now world-famous industrial monument is considered the birthplace of the Industrial Revolution. English Heritage is currently working on a one-million-pound restoration project to repair parts of the bridge and as a result it is covered in scaffolding and sheets. Instead of taking away from the experience it surprisingly enhanced it as there were viewing areas all along the bridge allowing us to see the conservation work in action and the English Heritage staff were incredibly obliging in explaining what was happening and pointing out where the repair work is needed on the ornate iron framework. The historic toll house at the other side of the bridge houses a museum telling the stories of the people involved with the bridge’s construction and some of the opinions on its aesthetics at the time.  We thought we’d be there for a few minutes on our way through to Shrewsbury but ended up staying almost an hour.

 

Shrewsbury was our next destination and marked the furthest west we’d go before heading back to our house-sit in Suffolk. Shrewsbury is famous for its historic Tudor centre filled with quirky streets lined with half-timbered houses. There was also the medieval, red-brick Shrewsbury Castle to visit, along with St Chad’s Church where Charles Darwin was christened in 1809, and the statue of Darwin proudly sitting outside the town’s library (his former school). We met two retired Australian women at the castle who had left their husbands back in Melbourne and were on a five-week trip-of-a-lifetime around the UK, their first time overseas.

 

After a night in a loft above an historic pub we left Shrewsbury and headed east as we were due in Suffolk the following day.  A stopover in lively Lichfield for lunch and to visit another cathedral, this version an impressive red brick three-spired medieval one, and then through to Peterborough for the night. Almost every town in England seems to be blessed with a cathedral and all are touted as the biggest, tallest, oldest, or best of something or other. Peterborough has one too, a very impressive one at that with a magnificent Gothic façade. While we were there the boys choir was practising, their pure clear voices filling the cavernous nave.

 

The next morning, we drove the short distance to Bury St Edmunds in Suffolk and to the home of Steve and Vanessa and their three sheltie dogs, Titch, Barney and Archie. This would be our base for the next two weeks.