My brother and his wife left a couple of days ago; I waved them off at the airport as they were weaving through security to make their way back to Canada. They weren't quite out of sight before I said to Sean, 'Right, let's go.'
If I had stood to watch them go much longer the tears might have spilled over. I've never been outwardly sentimental or emotional - in high school I was jokingly nick-named the ice queen - but the last few times I've said goodbye to my family have been tearful. It's been an incredible two weeks though, sharing my life and sites and home with them. While Jason has visited London before, Renée never has, and Jason hasn't visited since I've moved here. Much of their sightseeing around London was done while I was still working. We'd catch up in the evenings over dinner, or Sean and I'd meet them in London for drinks at a pub or, on one occasion, a visit to the theatre. (Wicked was just as good the second time around - I recommend seeing it!) It was during the second week, when they began to wind down their frenetic sightseeing, that I got to play the tourist with them. The first thing I did that second week was introduce them to Sean's family. They have made me feel so welcome here since I've been with Sean and it was important to me that my family got the chance to meet them. I feel a little guilty imposing on Sean's mum, but she and Jo now have an open invitation to visit Canada and stay with Jason and Renée, so I'm not too worried.
We also visited Highclere Castle together - for those who aren't familiar with it, it's the stately home that was the filming location for Downton Abby. The weather wasn't as fine as it had been the week before, but the rain held off long enough for us to enjoy the house and the grounds. There was something thrilling about being on a filming location of this favourite show. I know it seems silly, but it brings the fantasy of the screen to life a little, to be able to actually stand where the stories happened. You can almost imagine yourself a part of them. I felt the same kind of thrill when Sean and I visited Harewood House, a filming location for Victoria. The history of the Carnarvon family was also interesting though, and I particularly liked noting the moments that must have inspired the show's writer. There are tiny threads of truth woven throughout the fictional Crawley saga that were a delight to discover. And Sean (who loathes period dramas and was thoroughly uninterested in the Downton Abby connection) perked up considerably when he realised there was an exhibition on Egypt and the discovery of Tutankhamen's tomb (the 5th Earl of Carnarvon played a major role in the find).
The other big tourist trip was a day tour by coach to Stonehenge and Bath. We booked through Premium Tours and it was a really lovely day. The tour guide was funny and informative and the journey fairly comfortable. I was fascinated by Stonehenge. I still haven't quite got over my marvel at how old civilisation is here in England. To be standing beside something so many thousands of years old was stunning. When I stop to think about it properly, it drives me absolutely mad how much we don't know about our world. While we could find out a lot about how Stonehenge was built and the various stages of construction, archaeologists can only guess at why it might have been built. I absolutely burn to know these things but, like most of my questions about our world and the stars and, well, everything, really, I will have to bury my curiosity and just resign myself to never knowing any of the answers. The visitor's centre at Stonehenge featured photos of other henges around England and, while I suppose I should have realised it, I didn't quite think that there would be others. Some were only really visible from the air, as they're little more than dips and mounds in fields now, but others still had stones and other markers visible. Nothing nearly as grand and impressive as Stonehenge, but I think I might like to try and see them one day all the same. Bath was lovely too, but much the same as the last time I visited. Lunch was notable - we stopped in at Handmade Burger Co. (luckily just before the heavens absolutely opened up on us) for some truly delicious burgers. I'd recommend the Hawaiian chicken burger, which is what I had, but it was a tough choice as everything on the menu looked mouthwateringly good. Once we were back in London, we went out to dinner and then to a pub to celebrate Renée's birthday - and their last night in England.
It was an early start the next morning to make it to the airport, and all too suddenly it seemed it was time to say goodbye.
London is very much my home now and I am reaching the point where I can't quite imagine myself living anywhere other than England (assuming the home office will grant me leave to remain), but that doesn't change the fact that I miss spending time with my family. I used to be very close to my younger sister and my brother, and while I arguably still am, distance and a five hour time difference make it hard to feel that closeness. Having Jason and Renée come visit was a chance to properly renew that closeness and remind myself that I am still a part of my family. tags
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Geiranger fjord marked the midpoint of our journey through Scandinavia; from there we started to make our way south-eastward towards Sweden. We hadn't quite finished with Geiranger though, as we started off with an hour-long ferry/cruise along the fjord. Despite the steady misting drizzle, most of us found our way to the open viewing deck for the 360 degree views, all the better to see the eerie way the steep sides of the mountains drifted in and out of the mist and rainclouds, meeting their reflections in the stippled jade green water of the fjord. We passed The Seven Sisters, a group of narrow waterfalls that drop into the fjord in an intertwining tumble, faced on the opposite side by one that came to be known as The Wooer, said to have spent hundreds of years trying to entice one of the sisters into marriage. When he failed, he turned to drink to drown his sorrow - the way the waterfall drops down the rocks makes the outline of a bottle.
From Geiranger we climbed steadily into the mountains and, as we were swallowed by the clouds, Bec regaled us with stories of trolls and other Norwegian folklore. Eventually we climbed above the clouds and when we made our first photo stop we discovered that the temperature had dropped remarkably. I was glad of my two t-shirts, cardigan, and raincoat. We wound our way through the mountain-tops, going ever higher and making frequent stops for photos at lakes and patches of snow and stunningly clear, icy blue rivers.
Our main stop of the day was a town called Lom where we were visiting the stave church, one of the oldest in Norway. The main square of the church dated back to the medieval era, when Norway was just becoming Christianised, and my favourite part of the beautifully decorated church was the painted dragons and lions near the ceiling. Because early Norwegians believed in multiple deities, they didn't completely trust the single Christian God to protect their new church adequately, so they painted and carved their own protector spirits into the ceiling. After a picnic lunch by the river, we were on our way again, headed for our overnight stop in Gjøvik.
The main highlight of Gjøvik was the olympic bobsled run, where you could actually go down the run, with an experienced driver, of course. Sadly for me, I can't even handle a rollercoaster without having an awful tension headache or migraine the following day, so I doubted my neck would take the Gs of a bobsled run any better. I abstained. The others (especially Belinda) were incredibly pumped by the experience though, which made it fun to watch. After a brief, heavy downpour, the weather turned gorgeous and, as we made our way into Gjøvik proper, Bec suggested we buy a single-use BBQ from the supermarket and cook our own dinner in one of the parks. That's exactly what we did; after a confused half hour in the grocery store, nine of us managed to pick up all the bits we thought we might need and make our way to the lakeside. We spent a lovely few hours there, Cooking sausages and marshmallows and sharing packs of cider and beer. As the twilight started to set in, so did the chill, and though the lake was a beautifully soft blue against the green grass and lavender sky, we doused our coals and made our way back to the hotel, leaving no sign of our presence save a conspicuous patch of blackened grass. The following morning we set off for Sweden, winding our way through the forest to Stockholm, keeping an eye out for any wildlife we might see. The first night in Stockholm was definitely the most notable one: we all went to the same restaurant and enjoyed delicious Swedish meatballs for dinner, before being escorted to the Ice Bar. Our tickets included the price of one cocktail, served in an ice glass, and 45 minutes in the bar itself to take photos of the ice carvings and throne. The thing about ice glasses though, is that they are rather prone to melting. The glass Belinda's cocktail came in was either too thin at the bottom or else the drink was too warm, because when she picked it up from the bar the bottom dropped out and her drink went everywhere! Mostly all over me...my shoes were unfortunately sticky after that. She did get another cocktail made and lifted it gingerly to ensure it would actually hold. Second time lucky; she got to enjoy her drink and I was saved from another sticky berry shower
After the ice bar we were led en mass to a dance club a few blocks away, where Bec had generously arranged for a tray of shots for us all. They were tasty, but it was more like drinking syrup than alcohol, which can be a little dangerous. Another thing that can be dangerous about drinking in Stockholm is that most bartenders free pour. The lack of measures meant the strength of my drinks varied wildly from practically neat to practically juice. Consequently I found myself a little drunk that night. Getting an uber back to the hotel later was also an experience. For one thing, the driver and Rob bonded over their music tastes and then got into a bit of a karaoke competition. I think that left the driver a little distracted because he took a wrong turn and got lost. It was an expensive cab ride. But that wasn't quite the end to the night.
The other four whom I shared the uber with decided to walk towards the pinking horizon to watch the sunrise (still a few hours away, I might add), but I was ready for bed. When I reached my room, however, my key card wouldn't work. I tried calling my roommate but she was sleeping and didn't answer, so I made my way back to the lobby to see if there were still staff working. There was no one there and I was starting to panic a little about what to do, so I texted Rob about my predicament. By the time everyone had come back to see about helping, the guy working the late shift had come back to the lobby and was in the process of reactivating my key card. Upstairs we all went and voila! My card worked. I waved them off and walked into the room, only to find myself thoroughly disorientated. This was not my hotel room. Turns out I was slightly more inebriated than I thought, because it was. My roommate had moved her things about a bit while packing for tomorrow, which threw me off, but I was also thinking of the hotel room from Gjøvik the night before, which had been a very similar floor-plan, but flipped. So when I walked in to find the bathroom on my left, instead of my right, it didn't seem at all familiar and I panicked. This time I texted Belinda: 'Not my hotel room. I don't know what to do!' Once again, everyone made their way back to the hotel (I think they gave up on finding the lakeside to watch the sunset by this point) and came upstairs to rescue me. Which involved Rob checking his phone to find the message where I'd told him and Mike my hotel room so they could meet me there before we left for dinner. 819. The room I had walked into, looked around at, panicked over, and silently walked back out of. I very sheepishly thanked everyone and, throughly embarrassed, finally got to brush my teeth and go to bed. Thankfully, we had a slightly later start than usual the following morning, enjoying breakfast at eight and sitting on the coach for the Vasa museum by nine. The museum was an interesting one: the Vasa warship sank in Stockholm's harbour about twenty minutes after it set sail on its maiden voyage, was brought up from the depths in the seventies and restored, before a museum was built up around it. So, in less detailed terms, it's a museum literally built around a sixteenth-century warship. I found it really interesting, the exhibit covering all aspects from the building of the ship right up to it's recovery and restoration. There was even a section where the remains of those recovered with the ship were on display, accompanied by all the information that could be discovered about that particular skeleton. All in all, it was a fascinating place to spend a slightly hungover couple of hours.
The rest of the day was ours to do as we pleased, and was also my last day with the tour group. We explored Old Town, visited the Royal Palace to see the changing of the guard, and made our way to city hall. We had hoped to climb the tower to see the view, but hadn't realised they only took people through at designated times. We'd just missed one and the next (and last) didn't start until after we were meant to meet the coach again. Even so, the weather was gorgeous and the gardens lovely, so we enjoyed basking in the sun for a little while before making our slow way back to the Old Town to meet the coach. Bec and Hans very kindly agreed to do an extra Central Station drop off so that those of us leaving that evening would be able to store our bags on the coach all day. After hugs all round, it was time to part ways.
Despite the Contiki Cough I had managed to develop on the last day (so christened by Rob, after it started to make the rounds of the group), I absolutely loved every second of this tour and have no regrets. It was a madcap, whirlwind experience that I am very grateful I could afford to have, and would recommend to anyone who's even thinking about booking an overseas tour. Check them out here: Contiki - Travel Tours & Adventures for 18-35 year olds Tags
It wasn't until a few days into the tour that I finally began to relax and let go of the stress that months of hard work and misery had ingrained into my body. I could feel my jaw loosening and the smiles coming more easily. I stopped worrying about what I should do, and instead started thinking about what I wanted to do.
Surprisingly, I found I didn't want to go to bed at a reasonable hour. When we stopped in Voss for the night, I was energised by the stops throughout the day at lakesides and viewing platforms. Though a lot of the day was spent on the coach, I had been surrounded on all sides by lakes, forests, rocky fields, and hills that rapidly became steep mountains and sheer cliffs dripping with waterfalls. The skies shifted constantly from an endless blue to hazy silver and onimously dark grey. At some of our stops we were spattered with light drizzle and I repeatedly found myself very grateful for the new raincoat I bought just before I left England. (Sean couldn't believe that I had lived in England for three years and didn't own a light raincoat.)
Our hostel in Voss backed onto a long lake, only a few wooden steps and a grassy slope separating the terrace from the pebble beach. There was a noise curfew in Norway that locals are very strict about: after 23:00 all noise needs to be kept to a minimum. A lot of our tour-mates went indoors to drink quietly, play pool, and converse inside. I made my way to the lakeside, accompanied by Belinda and Rob, still nursing glasses of wine. The rocks on the beach were worn smooth and rounded by the water, the lake was still and the dusk lingering; a perfectly quiet evening. I spent an hour practising skipping rocks, roping Rob and Belinda into the pastime until they were both putting me to shame with the distance and number of jumps, though neither could curve their skips quite the way I (unintentionally) could. I was waiting for the stars to come out, hoping that we were far enough from city lights that I would see thousands. Only I didn't realise that the lingering dusk never really disappeared. Colours softened to shades of grey and deep blues and purples, but there was no point where I even considered using a torch or wanting a light. It certainly never grew dark enough for us to see any stars, the horizon remaining a pale lavender, even right up until we decided to go inside around one in the morning.
To say that the following day, driving from Voss to Geiranger Fjord, was more of the same is both true and also wildly understates the experience. Forests, mountains, long tunnels through the mountains, fjords, lakes, and frequent stops to drink in the fresh air and stunning views, and have the occasional snowball fight or build a tower of rocks for luck were similar experiences to the drive to Voss, but just as awe-inspiring and delightful. We took a ferry across one of the wider fjords to save time driving around to the bridge, and I found my way to the top deck, despite the cool dampness, and allowed the salty breeze to blow the cobwebs of a late night and early morning from my head. I also got to watch a pod of dolphins frolicking in the water near the ferry. Bec was surprised we saw them; apparently they rarely come that far up the fjords.
Our hostel in Geiranger was another gem of a place. While it didn't back directly onto a lake, each room had a private balcony overlooking the stunning Geiranger fjord. The water wasn't far either; only a short, winding walk down a steep hill to the harbour at the bottom, where there was also a tall diving tower and dock built for swimmers. Most of the tour group spent ages down at the water, cheering on those who were brave enough to try the 12m high polar plunge (though considering the fjord wasn't frozen, I don't know if it actually counts as a 'polar plunge'. The water was certainly icy enough!). Alas, no bathing suit meant I was relegated to the role of cheerleader, but it was fun to watch and partway through we were joined by the passengers of a cruise ship docking at Geiranger who were curious about all the cheering and splashing and lined up along the railings of the ship to watch the spectacle.
Geiranger was also the night Bec organised the quiz night for us, because of the lack of nightlife in Geiranger itself. I'd like to point out that my team won narrowly, though I was all but useless. Once again, more of a cheerleader than serious contributor. It was really good fun and afterwards everyone gathered to continue drinking and playing games and chatting in the common room. Just after midnight I decided I'd had enough but once again, I didn't want to go to bed, despite being tired. Inevitably I made my way to the water. Rob, Belinda, Ruth and I made the winding walk down to the harbour, where we sat on the steps at the beach and watched the tide come in. The rush and suck of the waves against the stones was hypnotic and I found myself drifting away from the conversation a little and finding one of those rare moments of mental stillness where I was just being. Listening, watching, feeling. That was all. Another late night, but well worth every minute of lost sleep. Tags
Copenhagen. It was grey and rainy and utterly beautiful. The houses lined the streets like a patchwork quilt, a variety of soft, weathered blues and pinks and whites, with arching rooftops and facades stitched with long, narrow windows. The people were stylish and friendly and spoke impeccable English and the streets and public areas were spotless. Wandering, a little lost, in the neighbourhood around my hostel, I found myself quickly enchanted by the city.
The first things I saw of Copenhagen were Nyahvn - the lovely harbour with the restaurants and cafés stretching alongside - and the forlorn statue of The Little Mermaid, looking out over the bay towards the ocean. It was a lovely evening and I didn't mind the silvery grey sky; it seemed to suit the city and particularly the statue of The Little Mermaid. Even the nearby Gefion Fountain was more striking with the grey sky behind the goddess' powerful figure.
The following day was just as cloudy and cool, and I and Marie and Ashna (whom I'd met over dinner with the rest of the Contiki tour) set off early to see as much as we could in our only day in the city. It was about half-eight on a Sunday morning and everything was so still. We saw no cars, only a few lone cyclists and fewer pedestrians. Even coffee shops and bakeries weren't open yet. Despite the slow start to the morning, Copenhagen did eventually wake up and we managed to see a lot of the city. The Botanical Gardens were first on the list, followed by the Rundetaarn. Ashna and I walked to the top where we got a really pretty 360 degree view of the neighbourhood. We also walked over to the Freetown Christiania.
Christiania was an experience that I'm not sure I enjoyed. It was colourful and the graffiti art on the buildings was beautiful, but it was very dirty compared to the rest of the city and it stank of rubbish, except in the market where it smelled of weed. I felt uncomfortable walking around and was relieved when we left. Later, back at the hostel, another tour member talked about how much she and her husband had loved it. She had a friend who lived there and had taken them around and shown them the art and taken them into the buildings and talked to them about how the community actually lives and functions, all of which sounded really intriguing and a little at odds with what I had seen and felt while there. Perhaps Christiania is an experience that is much better with a local guide. On our way out of the district, we passed the Church of Our Saviour and decided, on a whim, to stop and go up the tower. It was well worth the visit but if you're afraid of heights, I warn you: this tower climb is not a comfortable one. It starts with wide square staircases that quickly turn into narrow ones that are little more than ladders as you ascend the bell tower. As you go up, if you can spare a glance to the sides, you'll see statues of cherubs and angelic art instalments in the rafters, hidden behind mesh cages and signs warning that the bells you pass are active and ring regularly. When you finally climb through the bell tower and think you must be near the top, the ladders turn into tightly spiralling staircases that eventually open out onto a viewing platform. There's a low railing, roughly hip-high and just enough to stop you from tipping over with vertigo, and a gorgeous, unobstructed view of the city. If you're really brave (and I was not) you can then climb the metal staircase that wraps around the outside of the tower in a gentle spiral, all the way to the spire at the very top - and again, there's a hand-high railing and nothing else protecting you from a drop to the concrete and grass below. It was exhilarating and beautiful, though definitely not for the faint-hearted!
We stopped for lunch at Paper Island where a converted warehouse has been turned into a food market that reminded me strongly of Camden Market here in London. Bec had told us repeatedly on our orientation tour last night that we needed to have hot dogs while in Denmark, so that's what the three of us decided to do. Danish hot dogs are hard to describe; they're something like a cross between New York street meat and bratwurst, served not with chips but with quartered potatoes fried in rosemary and red peppers. It was delicious. If you decide to visit Copenhagen, I will echo my tour manager here and say, you need to have a hot dog. Preferably from that stall in Paper Island.
Copenhagen is a very walkable city; wear a comfortable pair of running shoes and you'll easily see just about everything you'd like to in a day (maybe two if you want to visit the museums as well). That being said, bicycles are very easy to rent and the city is designed for cyclists. Frankie, another tour-mate, said he saw the entire city easily and comfortably from his rented bike, so if you're a cyclist and want to spend a bit more time in various museums or doing some shopping, that's definitely a good time-saving option. The following morning was an early start, and after a long day spent on Scandinavian motorways (broken by an unconventional lunch stop at an IKEA, of all places!) we finally pulled into Frogner Park in Oslo. Here we had the chance to admire the largest collection of sculptures created by a single artist, Gustav Vigeland, whose aim was to create art that didn't mean anything, but reflected the circle of life. A little contradictory, perhaps, but impressive nonetheless. The best part about the park? Going around as a group and mimicking as many of the statues as we could find. There was also the famous crying baby statue whose hand you have to rub for luck. It was a really fun way to end the day, and had the added bonus of fresh air and a bit of exercise after sitting for so long on the coach.
Oslo was beautiful, but I didn't find it quite as enchanting as Copenhagen. That is probably largely due to the tension headache I had all day, making it hard to focus and difficult to relax. Despite the pain, I was determined to see something of the city, and it was such a gorgeously warm and sunny day that it seemed a crime to spend it indoors. I visited Oslo Cathedral and took a moment to take in the memorial outside before winding my way along the shopping street and up to the Royal Palace. I saw the royal palaces in all three capital cities and I have to admit, they were not as impressive as the ones I've seen in France and Germany - or even in England, for that matter. I did enjoy the long-suffering stoicism of the palace guards, though (especially in Oslo) as tourists kept approaching them to ask for photos. Though there was one notable exception in Akershus Fortress, where a younger-looking guard seemed delighted by all the attention.
From there I went to City Hall, where the Nobel Peace Prize is awarded. The Hall was very quiet after the busyness of the streets, even though it was filled with at least two coach tours' worth of tourists. It also felt incredibly cool inside because of the tiled walls and marble floor. The murals were beautiful, and the swirling patterns and predominance of shades of blue made it seem almost as though I'd stepped underwater for a while. It felt like a haven of peace, the coolness providing a respite from the pounding in my head, so I curled up on one of the cushioned marble benches in the corner for an hour and read my book and stretched my neck. Akershus Fortress is another place where I managed to lose myself for a few hours. Once you walk between the walls it's like the city is completely shut out and you enter this strange place where the layers of history have been folded on top of each other until you're not quite sure which era you're in. As far as I could understand, part of the fortress is still used by the military today and as you take the tour through the Castle, you are told about which rooms are still regularly used by the soldiers today. It was strange to imagine modern military men and women sitting in the chapel for service, or attending an event in the halls. I ended my afternoon lying in the shade of the park outside the fortress, enjoying some Chelsea-bun-type pastries and - you guessed it! - my book. Oslo was a much-needed solitary day; having spent two days in very close contact with people I didn't know very well, I did need some time to myself and to enjoy being quiet. For all that Contikis are very busy tours and encourage socialising and meeting new people, there are plenty of opportunities for you to take some time to yourself when needed - without having to miss out on anything. Tags
When I got back to London after my Scandinavian tour, I really hit the ground running as far as my social life is concerned, including meeting up with a few new additions to my circle of friends, courtesy of my holiday. I also threw myself head first into planning for the new A-Level media studies course I'll be teaching in September and putting a dent into my summer holiday reading list. None of that is much of an excuse for how long it has taken me to write about my tour, though I promise I have been working on that too. I just did and saw so much that the post I am writing is rapidly becoming far, far too long. So I'm breaking it down into parts, a few cities or places at a time.
Before I get into the full details of the tour itself, let me just say that signing up for a Contiki tour was one of the best holiday experiences I've had - it probably ranks right up there with my Highland experience from two summers ago! I'd recommend the company for anyone who is getting tired of travelling on their own because it is really social and completely hassle-free. This tour was a big one: there were 53 of us who all met in Copenhagen. There were no empty seats on the coach and I found myself overwhelmed by people. Bec, our tour manager, seemed to talk non-stop and everyone was loud, confident, and seemed to know each other already (or at least the Australians did - and there were a lot of them). Initially I wondered what I had got myself into. I was a very reserved introvert; I didn't like crowds or noise, how on earth was I going to survive nine days of constant exposure to 52 total strangers? The answer is easily and with great pleasure. The majority of people on the tour were also travelling on their own, and those who weren't were couples or siblings and were equally happy to have a chat with some new people. The whole tour is also designed to encourage people to talk and socialise; the optional extras were usually group activities and Bec really encouraged everyone to participate. She also made an effort to organise nights out in pubs or bars, and lunches or dinners together - not an easy feat; I don't know many restaurants willing (or able) to seat a group of 53 people. She even went so far as to put together a quiz night for us on the one evening we were staying somewhere with no bar or any real kind of nightlife near by. It took me a while to relax and stop worrying about the strangers and start making friends, but I did, and that was in large part due to how good Bec and our driver, Hans, were at putting people at their ease and creating an atmosphere of camaraderie and acceptance. My advice to any fellow introverts considering a trip like this is to let go of your reservations and just embrace the experience. The more open you can let yourself be, the more amazing your trip is likely to be. Contikis are expensive tours, and I've had people ask me before why I'd bother with the tour when I can do it myself so much more cheaply. They're not wrong about the cost, but as I learned on this, my first Contiki, they are worth every penny. If I'd done this trip on my own, there is no way I would have seen as much, tried as much, eaten as many new things, or had as much fun. To quote something Bec said right at the beginning of the tour: "You can always make more money, but you might not get the chance to have these experiences again." And she's right, because while you may tell yourself you'd go back to that city or country again, that second opportunity may never come up, or you find you'd much rather go somewhere new. So let go of your reservations, jump in with both feet, and enjoy a fantastic holiday. Tags
This school year is almost through now; only four weeks to go until we break for the summer! Much like last year, it's been manic. Coworkers kept promising me that things would get quieter and more relaxed as the year went on, but it hasn't seemed to happen. The only thing that changed from the winter term is how long I had to wait until the next break! Still, I have found it easier this year than I did last so perhaps there's some truth to the promises I keep being given.
Talking of breaks, I spent part of my summer half-term holiday in York and the Lake District. York was a beautiful city but, as you can probably predict by now, I loved being out in the countryside in the Lake District a lot more. While I'm beginning to admit that maybe I am a city girl after all, I still find the countryside unbelievably relaxing and restorative. York was my first stop on this trip, and I loved the history of it. Once I checked into my hostel on the Tuesday afternoon, the first thing I wanted to see was, of course, York Minster. I wandered the church for a good half hour before climbing the tower for the gorgeous views of the city. They warn you that you need to be fairly fit to make it to the top, but what they don't mention is that those who become dizzy easily should also avoid it. Going up was fine, but I had to pause a number of times coming down as the steep spiral was having a rather worrying effect on my balance. I had to trail my hand along the wall whenever the railing disappeared and focus incredibly closely on making sure each foot hit the next step securely. It was well worth the climb though (and the descent!) as the views were stunning. Next I paid a visit to St Mary's Abbey in the museum gardens, and managed to squeeze a walk along the old city walls that morning too.
It was shortly after the abbey that the weather began to nose-dive and it became incredibly cold and windy. It started to drizzle persistently and I found myself feeling rather miserable. Especially since the restaurant where I had hoped to have a fancy (albeit wickedly overpriced) afternoon tea was so busy and so popular the queue for a table wrapped well around the building. Instead of being totally discouraged I chose another British cultural staple and settled for a nice pub lunch instead, defaulting to my usual comfort-food of choice: hot and crispy steak and ale pie. It was delicious, and my dad was conveniently available to chat via iMessage while I ate so it was almost like I was having lunch with him, rather than on my own. It certainly improved my mood and as I lingered over a cup of tea I considered my plans for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
The weather did rather throw a wrench in the works. Most of what I wanted to do involved wandering the streets and riverbank, something that would have been lovely in the predicted sunshine and even still would have pleasant on a cloudy day, but definitely not the greatest experience in the constant icy drizzle, which had not been on the forecast when I last checked it. It was so cold in York that while I had been finding my way to the pub I had fervently wished more than once for my gloves and a much thicker scarf. The weather in London the week before had been bordering on hot, trailing off from an absolutely scorching weekend before that, so the four or five degrees celsius in York was a bit of a shock to my system. Still, I was not deterred and, after a quick stop at good old H&M to buy a heavy sweater with deep pockets to wear under my light jacket, I was exploring the city again, looking for all the history I'd read about. Though I didn't stay out as late as I would have had the weather been more favourable, I didn't let it stop me from seeing everything I had wanted to originally. Wednesday dawned just as chilly though a little drier but fortunately I was headed out of the city that day. By the time I reached the Lake District the skies had turned clear blue and the temperature had risen about ten degrees. Rolling my jacket into my bag, I broke out my sunglasses and bought an ice cream. I had joined the Beatrix Potter tour of the Lake District, but was only mildly interested in seeing where she lived and spent her time. The main reason I had signed up for it was because of all the tours of the area it seemed to cover the most. I wasn't disappointed, though I spent a lot of time just wandering idly in fields and along little country lanes while the other tourists from the bus snapped photos of farms and stood in queues to browse in Beatrix Potter's house. I had no desire to be indoors while the sun was out, especially not after all the rain the day before. We visited a tiny village called Hawkshead for lunch, the main feature being a medieval church and some opportunities for shopping the local artisanal crafts. Uninterested in the shopping, I found my way up to the church right away. It overlooked the whole village and surrounding farms, situated as it was on the tallest hill in the area. Not only did I have a great view, but the churchyard was dead quiet (if you'll pardon the pun) and no one else seemed keen on visiting it. I watched people coming and going in the village for a while, then dozed in the shade of some impressive rose bushes whilst the sheep in the field beside the churchyard bleated contentedly in the background. I ate my supermarket sandwich, then headed back to meet the bus. The day ended in Windermere with a cruise on the lake and then a pleasant drive back to York, during which the tour guide and I chatted about education, politics, and what it meant to be 'posh', a term I was familiar with but didn't really understand. He provided much insight there. We were back in York with plenty of time for me to have a sit-down dinner before making my way to the station to catch my train home.
While I did love York, I'm glad I ended with the Lake District as it meant I could go home feeling relaxed and energised from the good weather and peace and quiet. I'm hoping to visit more of England as this year goes on. Stratford Upon Avon is up there, as are the cliffs of Dover. And people keep telling me to go to Cornwall as well. So perhaps one of those three will be my next escape-the-city trip.
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This December I started my Christmas holiday with a book. I'd heard so many good things about The Book Thief, and had so thoroughly enjoyed the film, that I decided to bring it with me to Germany. Since it was set in Germany, what could be more perfect? I didn't start reading it until the airport and I finished it on the plane ride home from Munich. I loved it and it's every word worth the read. Actually reading it in Germany was an interesting experience, and my memories of Berlin and Munich are coloured with the titles Leisel stole and sharp barks of 'Saumensch!'
Germany was solid and no-nonsense, much like Rosa Hubermann from the novel. Everyone was friendly and happy to help where they could, but in a very abrupt way. There were no wasted words or gestures. Little hesitation. The sense that everyone was busy with something of enormous importance and there was not a second to be lost. Germany and the German people I met were efficient. Sadly I cannot say the same about their trains. The efficiency of German trains is very well known and I left London with many warnings about being even a minute late ringing in my ears. But my awful luck with trains followed me. I can't seem to shake it. Each train I took (with the exception of the underground) ran with a minimum delay of 15 minutes. Still, I got where I needed to be in the end and I had my book and my music to keep me entertained (current musical favourites include Imagine Dragons, X Ambassadors, and Hozier). In contrast to the brusque German-ness around me, I floated around the country in a bit of an idle fog. I was on holiday. I had nowhere in particular to be and no one to please except myself, which leant a sense of wonderful purposelessness to my time there. I loved Berlin. I spent a morning on museum island, wandering in and out of museums and galleries, spending perhaps 45 minutes in each, before settling down in a café overlooking the cathedral for a very late breakfast. I breathed in some history and a very cold wind at the Reichstag building, and smiled and 'mhmmed' in a friendly way to the elderly German man who didn't understand me when I said I didn't speak German. I have absolutely no idea what anything he said meant, but he seemed to enjoy the conversation all the same. The East Side Gallery was my favourite and I could have happily spent all day wandering up and down the Wall and river, but alas: the scenery started dancing all over the place and the gorgeous sunlight stabbed at my eyes. I fled back to my hostel where I hid under my coat in the common room and slept the worst of the migraine off. (I had checked out by this point and no longer had access to a room or bed, sadly.) The hostel, East Seven, gets three thumbs up from me (I'm borrowing a friend's thumb for the third one). It had incredibly friendly staff, great internet, even in the rooms, it was was clean, comfortable, quiet...I can't say enough good things about it. They even offered me some paracetamol when they realised I had a migraine, and switched the lights off in the common room for me. The location was also great: near plenty of good restaurants and bars, walking distance to museum island, and minutes away from anywhere else via the U-Bahn. I would recommend this place to any travellers in a heartbeat. Berlin was definitely my favourite of the two cities I visited. Not only was there loads of history and art but the Christmas markets were fun too. Lots of beautiful wood and glass ornaments, toys, incense, soaps, and, of course, food. Pancakes, waffles, potatoes, bratwurst, mulled wine, stollen, cheese...there was so much. I liked the cheeses and landjäger (semi-dried sausage, a bit like salami) very much, but found the rest too rich and heavy for my taste. Normally I'd be eating as much as I could, but when I'm travelling I really don't have much of an appetite. I loved wandering the markets, but after the first four or five they did begin to all look the same. I can recommend Alexanderplatz and Gendarmenmarkt as my favourite of the ones I visited in Berlin though.
Now don't get me wrong, Munich was lovely as well: beautiful buildings and much more walkable than Berlin. But all I really cared about in Munich was the tour to Neuschwanstein I had booked. The fairytale king's beautiful palace, and the inspiration for Disney's iconic castle. More than that, it was the chance to get away from the cities for a day and admire the Bavarian countryside. Fields, forests, and mountains, we drove through it all and along the way our guide filled us in on the fairytale king, the two palaces we would see, and the countryside we were driving through.
Ludwig II is nicknamed the fairytale king because his favourite hobby was building elaborate palaces that the country couldn't actually afford. He was also obsessed with the King Louis XIV of France and Linderhof palace is like an enormous shrine to the Sun King and everything French. People now think that Ludwig II was also homosexual, as he never married and also broke off a promising engagement early on in his reign for no particular reason. But all three of these personality traits combined meant that in his day everyone just thought he was crazy. So the government declared him insane and had him deposed and arrested. A few weeks later though he was found drowned by the lake near his favourite palace, Linderhof. His doctor (also dead) was found with him, and they never figured out whether he was murdered or if he committed suicide. Whatever the truth of it, his family immediately ceased all work on Neuschwanstein, the only palace that had not yet been completed, and gave three of his palaces (Neuschwanstein, Linderhof, and Herrenchiemsee) over to the state where they were turned into museums and tourist attractions. No one lived in these palaces after Ludwig II died, and Linderhof is the only palace where even he lived, it being the only one fully completed in his lifetime. As our guide told us all this, I couldn't help but notice she had the loveliest voice. It was mellow and very gentle, and her long, flat 'a's and short 'is' combined in a hypnotic way. This effect was then immediately cancelled out by her abrupt way of turning off the microphone. She'd finish a thought or a sentence, but because of the rolling way she spoke you expected her to say something more. Instead there would be a sudden and immediate 'click' as the microphone was replaced split seconds after her last word. It was like she was constantly cutting herself off. Despite that jarring feature of the narrator, the story struck me as very sad and I felt deeply sorry for this eccentric man who really didn't seem to want to be king in the first place. That sympathy coloured my mood for the rest of the afternoon and I was seeing fairytales and ghosts from another lifetime everywhere. It was like I'd taken half a step into the past (once I managed to ignore the mass tourism of it all) and it was an absolutely stunning day out. I'd have loved to spend longer in the forest around Neuschwanstein or Linderhof, enjoying the trees and imagining overweight kings wandering the grounds barefoot under skies heavy with stars, but no tour is complete without a shopping stop. Unfortunately. But then I'm not a fan of souvenirs or shopping for the sake of shopping either, so I'm quite biased there, and much happier in the forests and mountains.
By the time we made it back to Munich there wasn't much more for me to do but return to the hostel, pack, sleep, and fly home.
On a brief side note, I stayed at hotel Meninger while in Munich but I wouldn't recommend it. It wasn't bad, but I found the staff rather unpleasant and unhelpful and the rooms weren't particularly well-cleaned. It was also a bit annoying that even after waiting to check in at 3pm my room actually wasn't ready for another hour after that. The cleaners had only started changing the bed linen and cleaning by the time I got upstairs. So I also know first-hand how poor a job they actually did. The beds were comfortable and the sheets clean though, so it wasn't a completely uncomfortable stay. All in all Germany before Christmas was the perfect antidote to my 'humbug!' attitude to the holiday this season, but I don't think it's a country I'd be in a hurry to revisit, despite my intention to learn German this coming year. (You'd think I'd choose a more practical language for myself. Like French.) It was a great experience, but there are plenty of new ones I'm putting higher on my list now. Tags
I haven't really written about what I've really been up to recently. Things have been so hectic I haven't had time to find the words to describe my holiday in Ireland, not to mention the emotional speedball that was catching up with my high school friend, Will! In fact, I think that particular story can wait a while longer. Let's start with Ireland.
Over the October half term break, I went to Southern Ireland for a week; it was my first solo trip to a foreign country and the experience was a bit of a mixed bag. On the whole I loved it, and am thoroughly looking forward to doing the same in Germany this December (when I have a moment to even think about going to Germany, that is!). There were a few things contributing to my mindset in Ireland, which is all it takes to either make or break a holiday, really. Right before I left I spent the weekend catching up with Will, an old friend from high school, and he and I hit it off well enough that it was a very reluctant parting when I left for Ireland. When I arrived in Dublin and settled into my hostel, all I really wanted was to be back in London, still spending time with him. Throughout the whole trip, the gorgeous Irish landscape was absorbed and enjoyed through a haze of distracted thoughts about Will. But Ireland itself was beautiful and by the second day I was back to myself (mostly) and determined to enjoy my holiday. The weather was typical of Ireland in October: very wet and windy and grey. The fields were a mix of bright, rain-speckled green and a damp, crunchy sort of autumn brown. We travelled along the winding, narrow roads, close beside the rough stone walls that immediately spring to mind when you think of Ireland, and admired the scenery through the fuzzy filter of constant drizzle.
Because it was my first solo trip I decided on a group tour, and chose this Paddywagon 3-day tour of southern Ireland. It hit all the major locations that I wanted most to see and had the added bonus of making it easy to meet people. Our tour guide was pretty nice; a lot less sociable than Andy from Scotland, but he had loads of folklore to share with us as we drove around the country. He also had a pretty great story-telling voice and a gorgeous Galway accent (though he said 'okay' every three or four words. It was almost as bad as listening to a Canadian with their 'eh's).
I can't tell you much about the cities I visited, partly because I was too distracted by Will's appearance in my life and the usual teaching work load to do much research into what I wanted to see and where I wanted to go in the cities. I just wanted to see the countryside, and that's exactly what I did. So I got much more acquainted with the ocean, fields, and cliffs than I did with the cities. In Galway I walked along the promenade by the bay the evening we arrived. I'd been walking away from the city centre for a good fifteen minutes when it started to absolutely pour, and I'd stupidly left my umbrella at the hostel. There was nothing for it but to turn around and make my way back to the main stretch, trying to convince myself that I was thoroughly enjoying walking next to the ocean in Ireland, getting soaked through by icy cold water. I spent the rest of the evening drying off in the first pub I found and waiting out the rain so I could stay dry en route to the hostel.
But you know where I did enjoy walking alongside the ocean and getting soaked through with icy cold water (and blown over by a frigid wind)? The Cliffs of Moher. Despite the wind and the rain I walked all the way along the cliffs, stopping to listening to the roar of the waves beating against the rocks, and to turn my face into the wind and let it blow through my mind, carrying all the stress and sadness and loneliness away over the ocean. The Cliffs of Moher was definitely my favourite spot, followed closely by the ruins of Dunamase Castle.
Dunamase castle suited my frame of mind at the end of the trip; it was a crumbling ruin on the top of a hill, high enough that I could stand on the remains and look out over three counties. The rain had finally stopped and the sunshine was clear and golden, playing tag with the massive silver clouds, edged in white-gold, whose shadows raced over the fields far below. I could circle the castle, admiring a completely panoramic view, and enjoy the tall grass and close-growing flowers that, amazingly, were still in bloom despite it being chilly autumn. The castle seemed a little sad at first but the longer I spent up there the more I realized it wasn't sad at all. It was comfortably solitary, content to weather the seasons and completely ignore the world as it slowly sunk into the hill. I took some of my favourite photos there, including one of the three Canadian girls who were, like me, teachers in the UK, overwhelmed by how mental the system is here, and thoroughly enjoying travelling Europe.
My solo experience of Ireland was good for me, I think. It was a quiet holiday, and a lonely one, but there was plenty of introspection involved and I decided that I do like being on my own. I liked the independence and solitude. I liked not being connected to anyone around me.
When I got back to England I was happy to be around my flat mates again, and also looking forward to being back at work. Germany was going to be my next trip but there was a long wait for that. Even so, I was content to be on my own through it all. And then Will, whom I had been talking to every day since we'd said goodbye at the train station, asked me to meet him in Amsterdam for a weekend, a weekend which then completely threw over my decision about liking solitude and isolation. tags
I fell in love with the Highlands this summer. I almost broke up with London and moved to Scotland.
The only other place I've been where I've felt as much peace and ease has been the Muskoka region of Ontario, on the shores of a tiny little lake whose name I can't pronounce, relaxing on the dock of a cottage only accessible by boat. The Scottish highlands are nothing like Muskoka, of course. Driving through them on our coach bus was like watching someone unroll a tapestry of all my favourite landscapes. It felt a little like coming home - one I'd forgotten I even had. Truly, I understand why so many writers and artists have been inspired by the Highlands.
It's an incredibly rugged landscape of uneven hills spotted with rough grey rock and springy, boggy turf. The valleys and unbalanced fields give way to lochs that stretch away from you in an endless moment, the surface flat and smooth as glass and the water as dark and impenetrable as smoke. Then the moment ends and you're faced with the sheer, imposing visage of a mountain, the jagged edges revealing more grey and black rocks, broken here and there with a smudge of greenery or even a dusting of purple heather. The mountains wept, tiny waterfalls that looked no wider than my wrist hurtling down almost sheer drops. Then you're into the ranges and they become less imposing and more protective, as you wind your way through the narrow roads in the valleys, embraced by multiple hulking peaks demanding your attention whichever way you looked. Until you pass through them and your horizon rapidly expands as you are confronted with the ocean.
Despite being peak tourist season and thus crawling with people whose only interest was snapping photographs and buying shortbread (one of whom I was an unashamed member), I thoroughly enjoyed my tour of the Highlands. We spent five days exploring the area, driving from Edinburgh up towards the coast and the Isle of Skye, then further north to Inverness. And, of course, once we were in Inverness we had to make our way back down to Edinburgh again. One of my favourite parts of the tour was the coastal town, Oban. It was our first overnight stop and Andy, our tour guide, invited us all to join him at a Ceilidh club that night. A ceilidh night is an evening of Scottish music and dancing and, of course, drinking, and it was a blast. I managed to convince my dad to try a reel (or two) with me and we burned off all the calories from the massive fish and chips dinner we'd had a couple hours before. If you've never tried Scottish dancing, I'd highly recommend it, though I also warn you that it is really energetic. There's lots of skipping, spinning, and bouncing. It's also quite fast-paced. In fact, some of the dances reminded me a little of a less dignified and barely controlled Charleston. I was completely out of breath by the end of it (though I'm not very fit to begin with, and some of that was from laughing as much as skipping).
I have to take my hat off to our tour guide, Andy. His restaurant recommendations and terribly fantastic puns, not to mention his knowledge of local folklore and history and his national pride, really made the tour something special. If anyone is interested in following my footsteps and touring the highlands, the tour we went on was this 5 Day Highland Experience. I have nothing but good things to say about it, and that's as much due to the tour organisation and the tour guide as the places we were seeing.
In the end I decided not to break up with London. There just isn't enough infrastructure throughout the Highlands. So though I decided to be practical and not move up to the Highlands, I have reserved a place for them in my heart and will most certainly be going back. tags |
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