Scotland (cont'd)

Our friend here on the left was there to welcome us to the Kingshouse Hotel in Glencoe when we arrived for lunch. He and another stag were keeping their eyes on a trio of does that were grazing much nearer the hotel.




My lovely daughter and me outside the "Kingie"

















Now the Kinshouse Hotel goes back 47 years in my life when I first started climbing on the Buachaille when I was 16 years old. This was our escape from Glasgow and the football hooligans at the weekend. Not a difficult choice to make!

















I started climbing when I was sixteen with a friend called Stuart. For the next 3 years just about every weekend and holiday was spent in his company, climbing in Glencoe. When I was 19 I was his best man and gradually his climbing waned and I went on to be the President of my University Mountaineering Club. At 21 I was on Mont Blanc in the Alps and much later fulfilled my dream of climbing in the Himalaya near Mt. Everest. All from this start!





On the right is the Aonach Eagach ridge. It's 2 miles long and the skyline is over 3000 feet from where the photo was taken.

After lunch we went through the glen to the village to scoff ice cream from the village shop. Just across from the shop lives an old friend of mine known as "Big Ian" amongst the climbing fraternity. As luck has it I could see him working away in his back garden and soon we were sitting with him and his lovely wife, Sue, drinking tea, eating biscuits and catching up, in the late summer sunshine.
This day was becoming almost perfect! that evening we returned to our now favourite restaurant for another great dinner.

After another 2 days of seeing Debbie, buying endless books and reacquainting myself with some of my old university haunts we were all too soon heading south again to Lankashire to visit my sisters.

South again........

On to Glasgow and my daughter

Before we leave England, just a reminder of how dramatic the sky can be there.














The road out of Ambleside passes over some bleak hills and we were soon enshrouded in mist and very heavy rain. Not nice, but the car surged through it all with ease, floods and all and after a few miles we were on the main highway north to Scotland. That said, we still had to pass over the Shap summit at 1350 feet above sea level. Not much in most peoples eyes, but in the southern Scottish hills, it can be Arctic, weatherwise, in winter and is often snowbound. Today, no snow, just blinding rain and the rush of spray as other cars speed past in the fast lane. Fortunately, there seems to be very few trucks on the roads, perhaps a sign of how things have changed since we left Britain 12 years ago (not for the first time, but we had managed to stay for about 5 years that last time!). My memories then were of death-defying drives along motorways seemingly crammed with trucks which in wet weather made driving past them something of a drive into hell - blinded by spray, you could only hope that there was nothing in front of you as you hit 80 mph blind. Nothing of that today, just fast cars!

This time we had managed to pre-book our hotel in a nice little town just on the edge of the city, Milngavie - to those unacquainted with the Scots language it's pronounced millguy (as in man) and it had a great pub/restaurant attached to the car park!

We met Debbie, my daughter, and her boyfriend, Craig, at the Kelvingrove Art Gallery - memories of my father taking me there on a Sunday to see the models of the ships he and the other men in our hometown, Clydebank, had built over the years. They also have a great collection of paintings, including Salvador Dali's "Christ on the Cross" which at this time was out on loan somewhere. That evening we dined at the restaurant next to our hotel and all got to bed feeling rather full - great food and great fun!

Next day, Barbara and I drove up to Loch Lomond - freezing cold north-easterly wind coming directly from Norway! So our visit was couched with dashes into shelter to avoid the ear-freezing wind. BUT, there are some lovely trees -











And the loch's not bad either!












Loch Lomond is Glasgow's loch, in mind, heart and spirt and everyone there believes it is their personal possession, especially after a few wee drams!


Needless to say there were a few hardy spirits about that day and one was a seven year old boy who suddenly appeared with his father. The boy was wearing shorts and a thin tee-shirt.

"Jesus, it's freezin' Da" he said as his father dug into his rucksack to get his son's jacket.

"Aw, he's a hardy wee bugger" was all he could say to us, stuffing a Mars bar into the boys hand.
"He's walked half the West Highland Way, ye know, but no the day, ah mean". The West Highland Way is a 100 mile walk over some pretty rough hills and some of the bleakest moors in Scotland.

"Not bad for a beginner, you'll have him up Ben Nevis before long." was my reply.

"Aw, he did that last year."

Glaswegians are a tough lot!

Next day we met up with Debbie and Craig and decided, as the weather was very clear, we should head for Glencoe via Callander.

Here's what was waiting for us in Glencoe -



Buachaille Etive Mor
(the Big Shepherd of Etive)














More to come......

To the Lake District

Ambleside is a town I have very fond memories of. When I was climbing seriously it was the first place we thought of at the beginning of the season. Weather was always more reliable at Easter, so the holiday was spent in Langdale, climbing the crags and spending the evenings in the Old Dungeon Ghyll pub! After Easter, our weekends were spent hitch-hiking north to the bigger and better cliffs in Glencoe, Ben Nevis and Skye. Wonderful days!

So on our way north from Essex, I pleaded my case for overnighting in Ambleside. Of course there are plenty hotels, it's Ambleside for goodness sake! The same story repeating itself, but in a different town! Yes, there are loads of hotels and B&B's there, but when you arrive at 7:00 p.m, most of them are already full and pulling down the "Vacancies" signs. When you enter Ambleside from the south you pass a very impressive hotel overlooking the lake and if you drive past searching out cheaper alternatives, something in your head says, "you'll have to go back and pay the price tonight". Well, the little voice was right, yet again. BUT, we did have 2 nights of luxury and beautiful food, so it was worth it in two senses. Also it was pouring with rain all the time we were there, so having the space to spread out a bit and a huge hot bath to come back to helped salve our conscience about costs. That's why there are no photographs in this section, I didn't want to get my camera soaked!

Visits to the outdoor shops provided me with the lightweight camping gear I was looking for to use next spring when I tackle the Corfu Trail, 230 kms walk along the length of the island. I was happy. Barbara found a good hairdresser, so she as happy too!

Short but sweet, but they did provide fast free internet access in the room.

On to Glasgow.......

Across the Channel....

The idea of catching the earliest ferry from Dunkirk was soon scotched after we eventually turned up 5 minutes after the sailing had effectively been closed - a two hour wait or a rush to Calais to use another ferry line. So much for supporting Norfolk Lines who had opened up much to the chagrin of P&O, part of the cross-channel mafia who had tried to put them out of business. It turns out that Norfolk Lines who had originally been undercutting P&O had succumbed to the market and were now actually more expensive than their rivals and had adopted their mean business practices.

At Calais, ever reluctant to set foot on a P&O ship, we opted for France Ferries and practiced my seldom used French language skills to get us the best deal they had on the next available ferry. It worked and we managed to get tickets and soon were waving goodbye to mainland Europe.

Where to go in England? That was the question we had to answer. I'd made arrangements to meet my daughter in Glasgow in four days time, so we had time to kill and take in a few memories and nice places. Barbara remembered having had a lovely time many moons ago in a small fishing village in Essex, images of Essex-man and estuary English sprang to mind, but I was impressed by what she described, so, off we sped heading for Burnham-on-Crouch. Now that might sound an easy thing to do, and, yes, we had a map-book, bought somewhere in Europe and swearing to be the latest edition etc. So what problem could there possibly be - answer - plenty......

We got round london without problem and just as we came out the tunnel under the Thames did a sharp right and headed for Southend-on-Sea. We did as the map book indicated and looked for a small B-road - in Britain these are little twisty roads going through beautiful villages etc. Well, the B-road we wanted didn't exist anymore and we started the usual circular effect, - you know, going round in circles until we saw a signpost for Burnham on a completely different road. Beggars can't be choosers, so off we went again. "Can't be far," says Barbara, "it's on the coast and I'm sure the sea is just behind those trees." What trees? The ones 20 miles away I can see on the far horizon, or these nice ones on top of the small hill just over there? Yes, the ones 20 miles away. We arrived in Burnham one hour later, remember the twisty B-roads, well, they are twisty and have speed bumps in the beautiful villages. By now it was getting late to find B&B's - usually anytime after 4:00 p.m. is not a good time to look for a bed for the night.

Burnham is a lovely village with an acute absence of hotels, but some pubs offering rooms do exist, three of them to be exact! We went in the first that came to hand and no-one was behind the bar to give us any info about accommodation. So, off we went to the next which turned out to be quite disgusting, but full of character, the local drunk characters that is. The next had just let the last room to the people we had been following around the village. Back to the first, in desperation to find the bargirl to be very pleasant and soon, dangling a set of keys, she was taking us out to the back yard and showing us their newly refurbished self-catering little house. Wonderful and all for 40 pounds and there was a small Tesco supermarket just along the road. What more could we want, 2 microwaveable dinners, some ready made desserts and a nice comfy bed.

Some photos of Burnham:

The Main Street in morning light



The pub back yard - our wee house was inside the white wall on the near right.



The evening view of the River Crouch Estuary




Wasn't that lovely. In the morning we posted the keys through the pub letterbox. Still old-fashioned trust around in Essex coastal villages!! The idea now was to head for the Lake District and spend a day or two there before heading for Scotland, but on the way see something of interest. getting back to the motorway system from the far reaches of east Essex is no mean matter. You have several options - get lost is only one of them. Ely Cathedral is something I've wanted to see for quite some time, mostly from a wish to photograph its interior roof! So, what popped up on the way out of Essex but Ely with its Cathedral, only 20 miles off course, but why miss it now? I did my thing and paid the 6 pounds to go in. Here's the result - the famous roof -


The painted roof.



Detail of the painting.



The view of the interior of the Tower.



And another of the Tower



And so, it's on to the Lake District.....

Onwards and Northwards

After our wonderful breakfast, all that remained was to find our way back to the autobahn and our way through Austria to Germany.

It had always been a wish of mine to visit Innsbruck - for some reason I had an image of the place out of "The Sound of Music", etc. The last time we had driven through Austria was when we made the trip overland from Saudi Arabia and as we had headed towards Innsbruck then, we had suddenly decided,when given an option at a major road division, to go to Saltzburg, the "Home" of Mozart. A "no-brainer" for our little brains. But this time Innsbruck was in a direct line, so we decided to stop and have a look. Well, Sunday afternoon is not a good time to visit Innsbruck - dead as a do-do, as they say. Everyplace was closed, no restaurants, cafes etc to get a cup of tea or coffee. Given that the weather was a bit gloomy, the place didn't exactly have the appeal we had hoped for, so back in the car and head for a good motor-way services. That is something you can reasonably rely upon in Europe, reasonable stop-overs for meals and snacks - except in Belgium - more on that later! We zoomed through Germany, official speed limit 130 kilometers per hour, around 85 mph, but of course, that is just the recommended speed limit as most people are trying to become F1 drivers. The biggest in the range of Mercedes, Audis, Porsches and every other model of super-car flash past you as you think you're doing OK at 140 kph. A flash of their headlights and they're past, disappearing into the future.

We decided that South Belgium and the Ardennes, scene of the "Battle of the Bulge" in WW2, would be a good place to lay our weary heads and the little town of Dinant was chosen as a suitable resting place. About what should have been one hour short of Dinant, the road authorities had decided that 2 motor-ways should merge and become one driving lane, from a previous 6. Congestion is not the word to describe what they had managed to create, total and absolute chaos more like it. The Chinese government couldn't have done a better job when they were trying their worst. So much for German and European efficiency. Out came the map book and a search for an alternative route, through the forests of the Ardennes. A minor road soon popped up as an possible exit from the chaos and we took it, heading for what looked like a reasonable cross-country route to Dinant and a bed for the night. Not to be, the raod wound around and through places not mentioned in our too large scale atlas - raod diversions and unsigned intersections soon found us a bit lost and after 2 hours of messing around, we found ourselves reluctantly rejoining the road chaos we were trying to avoid. Not to be put off with our failure, we took the same minor road exit and this time forewarned that we shouldn't take that wee road that went past that wee strange-looking church, down that glade of gloomy trees, past the war cemetery etc etc - we eventually found ourselves entering Dinant fro the south which was as it should have been all along. Barbara had insisted that, considering Dinant was a very popular tourist town, there should be an abundance of hotels, B&B's etc. Dinant is a strange place built in a sort of deep chasm in the Mosel river and has an equally strange one-way traffic system. So it was round and round the town looking for this abundance of accommodation we had expected to find. Ah!, that looks like a hotel, park up quickly and investigate. "The Churchill", sounds good, a remnant of the last war, perhaps? The entrance to this hotel is proving elusive as we circle the building. Lots of people visible on an upper floor, so it does look promising. We find some temporary looking building works and assume the hotel is having some renovation work done. Struggle over building debris to find a back entrance and only then do I realise that the place is an old peoples home! The line of airport- terminal looking seating should have given me a clue, but after driving for around 10 hours, my brain wasn't up to it and Barbara was wearing her reading glasses so couldn't see farther than her nose or so!

Help! It was getting bark and we were getting a bit desperate. Back in the car and deciding to head north again for the larger town of Namur. The only ting was that we now had to around the town once again as we were pointing south and Namur is distinctly north of Dinant. So we head south looking for the place where we should back-track and as we drive I see, out of the corner of my eye as we just about pass it, an IBIS Hotel. Quick screech of brakes, pull into the smallest and only parking place available and rush into reception to get their last available room, luckily with a view of the river and free internet access! There is a very nice but formal-looking restaurant next to our salvation, but we chose to explore the town for something a bit more bohemian/artsy and cheaper, but only find a very nice up-market 'Cuisine Francaise" gourmandoise-type place and decide to just go along with our fate and pay the price. Anyone who has eaten in Belgium will know the Belgian propensity for "French Fries", or chips as we call them in Britain. So, regardless of how wonderful your main course appears on the menu, in my case, "petit rôtir du poulet avec fine herbs" - a small chicken (male) oven cooked and sprinkled with lovely herbs, it will always be accompanied by a huge portion of the ubiquitous "CHIPS". So much the the gourmand experience, but it was delicious and did the job especially when followed by some extravagant chocolate-mousse cake! Yummy.

A good night's sleep and we are now heading for the coast and England's white cliffs......

Our trip to Britain

What better way to open this blog but with a series of posts describing my recent trip away from Greece!

We had been in Corfu for just four months when we decided to visit Britain and see our relatives again after a year or so of being in Hong Kong. Having recently bought a car, after being car-less in China and Hong Kong for 8 years, the idea of driving home couldn't be resisted for long. Our main obstacle was finding somewhere to home our cat for 1 month. After scouring the Corfu forums, local rags etc, we eventually found a vet who discretely provided boarding for a select few of her customers. We quickly became customers by getting our cat updated with her vaccinations, "Hey Presto" a cattery was provided and the trip could go on. We took the cat to the vet's home and left her, a wee bit uncertain as the place she was provided wasn't tops in our scale of cleanliness etc, but having now booked and paid for the ferry to Venice, we were committed.

"Minoan Lines here we come"

The ferry was leaving at seven o'clock in the morning and check-in time was 6:30, so an early start was needed. With all this rush, we naturally forgot to pack our usual kit of handy things, like tea, coffee, cups and an electric kettle for using in unfriendly hotels who don't provide you with those sort of facilities, and, believe me there are many of them! So it was going to be a make and mend sort of trip, buying things as we needed them and gradually filling the car with all sorts of goodies.

The ferry takes 25 hours to reach Venice, first crossing to Igoumenitsa on mainland Greece and returning almost to Corfu Town about 3 hours later - very frustrating. Then it's off to Venice and a very boring sail up the Adratic Sea.











(Very grey St Mark's Square and Gondolas)


Leave Venice at about 8 a.m. and rush north to Austria to find somewhere to sleep that night, nothing pre-booked as we thought we'd just chance our luck as we went! The last time we did this trip was in a Land Rover, having driven from Saudi Arabia, but that time we at least had all the camping gear as back-up in case there were no hotels available.

We found an Austrian Gasthous early in the evening after having trekked around quite a few villages where all had no "zimmer frei" signs hanging. By a bit of luck we entered a village where Barbara thought she saw the "green for go" "zimmer frei" sign on the side of one of the houses. Just as we were trying to do a u-turn to get out of the place having found no such "free room" a young man asked us what we were looking for. Ah, a room, you want? Eh, which house do you want, pointing to his two gasthouses. Luck had shone on us at last and there was even a restaurant across the road. Just as well as he didn't provide any meals! Next morning, a breakfastless early start and we found ourselves heading for Oberammergou (of the Passion Play fame) having just passed through Underammergou, funnily enough. Ha, a large hotel that looked very promising for food. Barbara went in and discovered what appeared to be around 100 or so American Passion Play tourists ploughing in to their buffet breakfast. Not wanting to compete with them, she asked if we could just have some coffee and bread rolls. We were offered what was to be the best deal of our trip, a mini-buffet breakfast for 6 euros. Just take what we want from the big buffet and let the waitress know when we were finished so she could estimate if we'd eaten enough. Great stuff!!

Onwards and northwards through Germany and into south Belgium.........