Category Archives: United Kingdom

A collection of travelogues from my trips to United Kingdom, peppered with reviews and recommendations of accommodation, walking tours, restaurants and pubs.

Travelogue N. Ireland 2: Giant’s Causeway

GIANT’S CAUSEWAY

13-15 March 2023

We arrived at the airport in Castletown, Isle of Man, with plenty of time to spare.

For a small airport, there were five gates servicing an impressive variety of destinations. Sadly, our flight to Belfast was delayed, so we hunkered down in the waiting room with a surprising number of other people also waiting, also with delays.

Our flight was a mere hop (about 100km according to Chris) and we had barely completed ascension when we began our descent into Belfast.

We collected our rental car, a spanky new Ford Focus (quite a step-up on our usual entry-level rentals – and twice the car for half the price compared to Isle of Man!) and headed to our first destination, Castle Carrickfergus. We hoped the detour would not be in vain since we were quite far behind schedule.

Driving into the dusk, the Irish countryside was a sight to behold. Puffy white clouds on the horizon with endless green fields rolling to meet them.

On arrival in Carrickfergus, we drove right up to the Castle and were able to take some very nice snaps from a few key aspects. Worth noting that it didn’t look like we would have been able to go inside even if we had arrived earlier.

On to our home for the night, Larne, which the Vikings had used as a safe harbour for their long boats as they returned home from raiding the rich monasteries up the Irish coast. They named it “Ulfreksfjord”, which is the origin of the town’s other name, “Olderfleet”, and we’re finally defeated In 1018 by a llocal King, Connor.

We had booked at the Harbour Inn, thinking that being a seaside town it would be where the action was. It was right on the harbour, but more of a working port than the waterfront we had imagined.

Nevermind, the only agenda for the evening was a fish ‘n chips dinner, and our hostess proactively recommended we visit the Olderfleet restaurant around the corner, known for their great seafood.

Happy to oblige the recommendation, we were soon seated at a cosy table right next to the fireplace to dry off and warm up from the short but wet walk between the B&B and the restaurant.

Our waitress told us that their establishment – a local legend apparently – was famed for its Chowder, so we compromised and ordered a large bowl of the creamy seafood goodness to share alongside a crunchy battered Cod on a bed of hand cut chips. Perfect fill for a chilly night!

TUESDAY

With a vigourous day ahead of us, we decided to have a rest day on the running front. We awoke to an abnormally clear, blue-skies sunshiny day.

We filled our tanks with a sumptuous Full Irish breakfast (that included both potato bread and soda bread) and set out to do the walk along the promenade that our hostess had recommended.

The weather gods rewarded our good decision, and the Sun kept us company on our walk. Not that it provided any warmth, but it was a novelty for our commemorative pics as we did a quick lap of the promenade and got snaps of the memorials that were the noted landmarks along the waterfront.

Then it was off to Giant’s Causeway.

Timed just about perfectly, the sun disappeared as we were driving out of town. It started sleeting and minutes later the temperature had plummeted to zero degrees! Not so bad in our comfy car with the heater belting.

We stopped as planned in Ballycastle. We had not banked on more snow, so it was slow-going as we trudged up the hill on the signposted Historic Walking Trail. We did not get as far as the castle before deciding to turn back to resume our road trip.

True to form, by the time we were back at the car the snow had stopped and the Sun had come out. We satisfied ourselves with a photograph of the memorial in the Town Square to commemorate the moment with a shrug and a laugh, and got back in the car.

We then made our way to The Dark Hedges, a notorious and eerie film set from the TV series Games of Thrones. We realised we must be in quite a temperamental micro-climate, as we got out of the car in sunshine, walked a few hundred metres to the start of the hedges where it was snowing, got caught in a splash of rain as we trudged along the eerie avenue, to wash-rinse-repeat on the reverse journey. One can only put one’s hood up and roll with the punches.

On to Giant’s Causeway!

60 million years in the making, the Causeway was formed when Europe was starting to rip away from North America, in doing so creating huge rifts in the earth’s surface. These produced cracks and later erosion caused rivers to form, resulting in the distinctive hexagonal basalt stones.

If you believe in Science, that is.

Legend has it that an Irish giant named Finn McCool created the Causeway to get across the Irish Sea to face his rival, the Scottish giant Benandonner. Following their fearsome meeting, Benandonner ripped up the causeway as he fled back to Scotland, leaving behind the trail of hexagonal stones.

We kitted up and followed a group of people who looked like they knew where they were going. They had joined the Blue Trail, which led down to the water’s edge and the photo-friendly peninsula of hexagonal stones with backdrop of raging seas on 3 sides.

There were a lot of people posing for pictures and capturing the sight, but fortunately it was a GIANT’s causeway, so there was room for everyone to create spectacular photos that probably – like ours – looked like they were the only people there enjoying a desolate location.

Keen to see more of the coastline, we followed the Red route along the cliff face on the other side of the bay to get to the ‘Amphitheatre’. With the wind whipping around us, and the narrow and muddy trail, it was easy to understand when the trail came to an abrupt stop, with the thick wooden barriers citing caution of treacherous conditions including falling rocks.

Scaling back up to the top, we looked down on the trail and marvelled at the magnitude and magnificence of this natural wonder.

Looking behind us, the contrast of emerald green farmland and lazy sheep was just as breathtaking.

Our parking ticket had cost £10 on arrival but was redeemable at the Causeway Hotel for equivalent value. We traded our ticket for a pair of Rockshore pints and a caramel cheesecake, while our fingers and toes thawed out.

And then on to Bushmills, for our overnight stay.

Bushmills village dates from Norman times (1150–1520) and was originally known as Portcaman but as water powered industries developed from the 1600s, so did the village name. At one time there were seven mills working the river Bush and five distilleries.

With the discovery of the Giant’s Causeway by the wider world in the 1700s, Bushmills became the gateway for visitors, eager to see the mysterious grandeur. By the mid-1800 much of Bushmills had been re-developed and boasted at least three hotels, a busy livestock and produce market, a courthouse and a thriving distillery.

Today Bushmills is still regarded as the gateway to the Giant’s Causeway. With nearly 90 listed buildings, Bushmills is officially designated as a Conservation Village.

We had booked to stay at Finn McCool’s, a cosy B&B hosted above a local pub and easy walking distance to Old Bushmills Distillery.

Chris was so keen to get to the distillery, that we didn’t even unpack our bags, and shot straight up the road after parking the car at Finn’s.

Since Chris has already experienced the “how whiskey is made” tour before (and I’m not interested) we bypassed the usual organised events, and headed straight for the tasting room.

Chris ordered the single malt flight which comprised of three whiskeys, a 12-year-old reserve, a 16-year-old single malt and a 21-year-old single malt. Not a whiskey fan myself, I was delighted to be offered a whiskey-based cocktail called a Daisy that was mixed with all sorts of citrus and apple liqueurs, and barely tasted like whiskey at all!

Chris was enamoured with the 12-year-old reserve, and since it is only available for sale at the distillery, was compelled to order another to celebrate the experience. As an added bonus, when he ordered from the bar, the barman served the whiskey but said he was unable to charge for it since they had already cashed up.

Having immensely enjoyed our excursion, we supported the merchandise store by purchasing a T-shirt for Christian and a Hoodie for me. Another delightful bonus, Chris was told at checkout that his T-shirt was half price!

Chris was feeling quite heady as we retraced back to Finn McCool’s, checked in, and ordered a Pint of Guinness to settle into our new home. Interestingly, a pint of Guinness costs the same price as a pint of beer, which is quite unusual and quite a treat.

We enjoyed a lengthy chat with our host, who was generous with information about Bushmills, Northern Ireland, and the world in general, and was full of questions about our experience of life in South Africa. A regular glued to the bar weighed in periodically with an ‘aye’ or a ‘nay’ to nobody in particular.

By now it was nearly dinner time. Oddly, none of the pubs that we had been to in Northern Ireland so far served food. Our host did invite us to source takeaways from anywhere along the High Street and return to eat them in the pub.

Intent on taking him up on the offer, we exited onto the High Street to see what else was in town. We walked the length of the street and popped into Bushmills Inn to enjoy a beer in the glow of their fireplace.

With limited options on the short High Street, we decided to deviate from our traditional fish and chips to branch out to a Chinese meal (not something we do very often at home either), which we then took back to Finn’s and again enjoyed conversation with our host – with footie on the telly there was all-new conversation about the world of sports – and the regular who was still valiantly propping up the bar.

WEDNESDAY

We were up early enough to get in a quick run before the (inevitably giant) Full Irish breakfast that was included in our room rate. We ran through town, down to aptly-named Runkerry Beach, around the golf course and back along the High Street.

Only when we returned and were waiting at the bar counter for a warm-up tea and coffee did our hostess think to mention that we could actually have run along the tramlines all the way to Giant’s Causeway, only 2 miles away. That would have been epic!

While we were showering and packing, our hostess prepared a feast for us. And while we worked through the table full of goodness that she’d served, she gave a few hints and tips about sightseeing in the area.

It was obviously still cold but there was an icy wind taking real-feel temperature below what we were prepared to bear to visit the Rope Bridge at Carrick-a-Rede. Our hostess told us that with £10 parking fee and £13.50 each to access and cross the bridge, if we weren’t going to make a meal of it then it was best to overshoot the landmark and take the next (free) parking entrance, where there was a pathway to look-out points from where you could see the Rope Bridge.

Great compromise and we did exactly that as we drove out of town.

Last stop on the Giant’s Causeway coastal route was Dunluce Castle, ruins positioned dramatically on a sheer cliff face between Giant’s Causeway and Port Rush.

Even though we’d learnt to be more or less waterproof by now, the light drizzle was still a factor in the cost:benefit of £6 each to wander around the castle ruins. Figuring we would never beat the private tour of Rushen Castle a few days earlier (Castletown, Isle of Man) we satisfied ourselves with the pretty-legit observation decks.

The info on the display boards revealed that while the area had been inhabited for more than 1500 years, the Castle had been finished in 1608 by the MacDonnells, with an entire little town of Scottish-settler subsistence farmers feeding it.

The area was invaded in 1680 and the town burnt to the ground, with the remnants of the Castle bookmarking the story.

Travelogue N. Ireland 4: Belfast

BELFAST

17-19 March 2023

With an extravagant multicourse breakfast on board from our hotel in Enniskillen, we hit the road for the final leg of our Northern Ireland road trip; the drive to Belfast.

With our sights set on attending the Saint Patrick’s Day parade in the Belfast city centre in the early afternoon, Chris put foot and we went straight to drop off the car.

So concluded our 316 mile road trip of Northern Ireland as we pulled into the car rental drop off in Belfast Airport.

With heavy luggage and no time to waste figuring out the buses and whatnot, we got a taxi to take us door-to-door to our B&B in Belfast. All of the taxi cars at Belfast Airport were fancy, so we were soon nestled in the back of a Mercedes-Benz feeling like first class passengers.

Our driver was chatty, telling us all about how wonderful Belfast is and how friendly the people are, and was quick with recommendations for all of the items on our To Do list.

He also revealed that the route we were taking into the city was part of the Ulster Grand Prix motorbike race circuit, and shared the hair-raising speeds that the motorbikes would be taking on the various twists and turns that we were cautiously taking in the comfort of our luxury vehicle.

Our B&B, Gregory by the Warren, was a converted Victorian mansion, delightfully decorated in muted, earthy tones that complimented the double volume and preserved the feels of the pressed ceilings, ornate cornices, embossed wallpaper et cetera.

Consulting Google Maps, we hit the road on foot and found quite a direct route into the city that was merely a mile from our digs.

The walk into town went past Belfast University and explained how the majority of pedestrians were of student age. In their hordes! I shivered at how scantily-clad a lot of the girls were; dressed up for St Paddy’s Day in lots of bright green (of what little clothing they were wearing). 

Getting into town, there were already long queues outside quite a few pubs. We were concerned, thinking we may have missed the full show and that we had only arrived in line with the after-party.

Fortunately this was not the case and, as we rounded the corner to where the City Hall was, we realised that it was the students that were pre-gaming, and found ourselves in more like-minded company on the High Street waiting for the parade to start.

Of course by now, being Ireland, it was raining.  Just a light drizzle though, so not enough to dampen (literally) the spirits of the patient onlookers.

The crowd cheered as the first float came into sight; a massive model horse, with a booming fella, riding high and cheerleading the crowds to welcome the parader. Hot on his heels was a giant Neverending Story-looking Dog float… and then another float… and then another…

The crowd cheered and whooped and clapped for the procession of floats, bands, dancers, drummers, stilt-walkers, hula-hoopers and participants of all shapes, sizes and ages. Lions International members formed part of the stream of paraders, each carrying a sign showing where in the world they were from. Anywhere and everywhere! A true indication of how cosmopolitan modern Belfast is.

I was keen to get out of the rain, and even keener to clock our first pint for the Guinness Index… on Saint Patrick’s Day… in actual Ireland! We indiscriminately entered the first pub with a Guinness sign and no queue outside. The former being simple but the latter a challenge on arguably the busiest day of the year in this city.

The Hercules was very busy inside, but the skilful bartenders, managing multiple customers at the same time, kept the drinks flowing. Most of the patrons were watching that Cheltenham festival (horseracing) and furtively glancing back and forth between their race betting stubs and the screen, hoping to have picked a winner. 

Noting that a pint of Guinness was “only“ £4.30, and seeing on the menu that they served the ever-elusive pub pie, we pencilled in a return visit for the following day.

With no particular plan in mind, we next found ourselves at The Crown Liquor Saloon, lured in by the historical façade. In operation since 1860, and with largely the original fittings, it was incredible to be in a living Museum, with its heavy oak bar, individual gated stall booths, and all the original wood, panelling and embossed wallpaper you would expect of a Victorian watering hole. It came in at a price though; a big jump to £5.55 for a pint!

Interlacing sightseeing with our mini pub crawl, we found ourselves back outside the pub that we passed on our way in that had the queue all the way around the corner. By now the pavement was even busier, with new people queueing and already-serviced young patrons purging their St Paddy’s indulgences. Unprompted, the doorman gestured us a silent invite as we passed by, cocking his head toward the entrance, offering for us to jump the queue; we couldn’t help but oblige. 

Lavery’s was prepared for their student patrons, and was serving the bustling barful drinks by the dozen in plastic cups. The TV screens were also showing the horseracing. It was receiving far less attention than in The Hercules, but a very very drunk student did press a “£1 off a pint” voucher into my hand saying that she was sharing her “wee winnings” with me. How nice.

Chris has already been served so we couldn’t use it. I paid it forward by giving it to a mousy and sober girl alone at the bar, who’d been waiting ages to be served, quite bewildered and very out of place. She beamed at the gesture. I wonder if she’s been served yet…

Between our intermittent sightseeing and nursing each of our drinks (paying in Pounds is no joke!) time was moving on and we needed to think about dinner.

Heading towards the Queen’s Quarter, we set our sights on The Parlour which had good reviews for food and atmosphere. Hardly surprising since it was nestled in between the university buildings.

We had a fabulous time for a couple of hours, starting with a £5.10 pint of Guinness, benefiting from the power of observation of the  (not-on-the-menu, absolute bargain £4) cheesy garlic pizza and even having a bolshy English student insist we try a Baby Guinness shot (Kahlua and Bailey’s), as his treat because he was (allegedly) half-Saffa (certainly not the tallest of the tales he’d told us).

As a last blast on the way home, we stuck our head in at the pub around the corner from our accommodation, Ryan’s. With the aromas of dinnertime still hanging in the air, the pub smelt great, and sounded even better with the traditional fiddler-dee band playing and the hum of people enjoying each other’s company (in a calmly fashion).

What a treat to be have experienced a genuine Irish St Paddy’s Day!

SATURDAY 

Thinking it a clear morning, we started with a jog around the neighbourhood to get our bearings. Typically, as we approached the farthest point of our pre-planned circuit, it started to rain so we had no choice but to grin and bear it on the return journey. 

By the time we were showered and dressed, it was dry again. But of course once we left home and headed into town on foot, it started raining again. Properly.

The first order of business was some necessary banking at Halifax. We arrived at the branch bedraggled and – speaking for myself – in no mood for the admin uphill that inevitably lay ahead.

The upside of the next hour is that it was warm and dry and there was free Wi-Fi in the branch. The downside is that being Halifax Bank, I once again achieved nothing.  The safest bank account in the world, since not even the account holder, try as they might, can access it. Talk about ‘forced savings’. Pffft.

Desperately in need of a mood-lifter, we made a beeline back to The Hercules for that ever-elusive pie. 

Thank heavens they were open and serving, had a table for us, and were sharp-sharp with bringing out the lightest, fluffiest Chicken and Ham (me) and Beef and Bushmills (Christian) pies. I had champ on the side, to be authentic. Mash with green onions. Yum!

In far better spirits and ready to tackle Belfast again, we set about with the order of the afternoon: explore the Titanic Quarter. Extensive signage along the quayside helped immensely with creating a self-guided walking tour.

According to a board, when Queen’s Quay opened in 1877, it provided much-needed berthing space for the numerous sailing colliers. This vast Port of Belfast was once the heart of the world’s largest shipbuilding industry, and it was from a nearby slipway that the ill-fated Titanic was launched in 1911, later to set out on her maiden voyage in 1912.

The sailing ships have long gone, but Queen’s Quay still plays a vital role as a portal into Titanic Quarter – the largest waterfront development (residential, commercial and entertainment) in Europe, at 185 acres with a mile of water frontage. 

There are many monuments and landmarks to visit along the river, not least of which a collection of bridges, the leaning clocktower (built on top of a river, eroded its foundations), a giant blue and white tiled fish, and of course the multi-million Pound Titanic Museum our taxi driver told could be an afternoon’s investment all on its own.

We paid a visit to Hill Street, popular to Belfast’s good-timers for centuries and we’re amused by the names of the pubs. The Thirsty Goat… The Dirty Onion… The Dark Horse. All in buildings aging from 1680 and up! 

In retrospect, I think we may have chosen poorly; it was only once we’d ordered and were seated that we realised that The Harp, based on wall-to-ceiling Bushmills paraphernalia, was a whiskey bar. No mind, it was nice anyway in our velvet wingback chairs in the window.

Well-rested, we took a walk ‘across the tracks’ to hunt down Falls Road to see the famous mural of Bobby Sands, an IRA volunteer who was jailed for a bombing of a clothing factory in Dunmurry and the ensuing gun battle with the police. 

Whilst in prison, Sands was elected as an MP, the youngest at the time. He succumbed to a 66 day hunger strike less than a year later, protesting against the removal of special privileges that  “political” prisoners had but ordinary criminals didn’t. He never took his seat in the House of Commons and a bill was passed preventing people who have served a term in prison from being voted into parliament, in order to prevent any of the other strikers from running to replace him.

We got more than we bargained for; well worth the almost 2km trek to see several murals and sombre tributes to the violent and turbulent times this city has seen, as well as those in other parts of the world like Gaza, Catalonia and our very own South Africa.

Chris was keen to catch some of the Ireland vs England game but we were quite intimidated at the bars in Fall Road which were Irish to the point of having no English signage. Rugby spectating being loud and rowdy by convention didn’t help to make us feel any more welcome as we tested the waters.

We were also reluctant to get drawn into another student fiasco so needed to pick our pub wisely.

We rationalised that downtown would be a dog show and we’d fare better in the ‘burbs. By now familiar with our surroundings, we cut through the Botanical Gardens thinking that the Botanic Inn sounded sedate.

Boy, were we wrong!

There was a fan park of sorts erected between the hotel and the Chicken Wings pop-up street-food restaurant next door and you could hear the roaring crowd from all the way down the street!

We slipped into Plan B and were pleased to find that the The Jeggy Nettle was, although festive and spirited, more age-appropriate.

Exhausted from almost 20km of on-foot mileage over the course of the day (!!) I asked a group of 4 at a table next to the door if we could perch on the end of their booth seat. They smiled and obliged, and we were grateful to squeeze in.

With a resounding victory for the Irish, the patrons were giddy when the game was over and the traditional band started seamlessly as the commentators started their post-match autopsy.

A band of 4, the young lads fiddled and fluted and squeezed on the accordion like life depended on it. An inspired rendition of Fields of Athenry raised a chorus from the customers (including us) and I swear there would have been jigging happening if there was an inch to spare on the heavy-wood ancient floorboards!

With little wind left in our sails, we opted for a quick n easy takeout (but eat-in) type meal. We simply had to go to the Thai-Tanic to fit the theme of the day! 

SUNDAY 

Hard to believe it was home time already!

We had sights set on a walking tour at 11am (a bit backwards ending off with it, but so be it) and a quick roast lunch before needing to be at the bus station for our 15h30 departure for Dublin International Airport to fly home.

We were at City Hall spot on 11am to meet the guide with the yellow umbrella. He started his patter with the usual go-round of who is from where. When we offered “South Africa”, he shared that our Durban City Hall was built off the same plan as the magnificent Belfast City Hall! I don’t recall ours being as grand, but will have to refresh my memory when next I’m in Durbs.

Our guide was a wealth of knowledge, threading the story of Belfast through the ages from a political, religious and economic perspective as he pointed out places of interest to illustrate the story. As someone who had lived through the latter half of the twentieth century in this troubled city, he spoken sincerely, passionately and often poignantly, padding the sometimes sterile timeline of events with his personal experiences. 

He repeated what we’d learnt in Derry about the Plantation of 1609 and was emphatic that those early days of banning Irish and Catholicism were the seeds of the Troubles, seen centuries before and festering through the ages, with Rebellion through the 1700s to remove the British rule.

He spoke of the devastating potato famine of 1845-1852 and how the Irish people not only received no aid from the UK, but how the British actually exported food from Ireland under armed guard. Some 1.5 million people starved to death and a further estimated 3 million left the country. Apparently 15 US presidents have claimed proudly to be from this Irish stock (including Joe Biden), so who know what a powerhouse Ireland could have been without that brain-drain (sound familiar, South Africa??)

Ireland picked itself up and dusted itself off and by 1880 had a thriving Economy and was an industrial powerhouse for linen, whiskey and its shipyard. The graphic illustrations around the quayside had shown an elegant society with beautiful buildings and horse-drawn carriages, which must have been this heyday.

It was in these grand times that the City Hall was finished (1888), and no expense was spared in the magnificent fittings and fixtures inside. The building is open and free to access, which is also pretty remarkable.

The gardens contain a 30 metre plinth tribute to the Titanic. 

The story as told to us is that Thomas Andrews announced he would build the biggest, fastest, most luxurious, most expensive and ‘unsinkable’ ship. The Titanic was then built by experts with the finest materials. The downfall was wanting to be the the fastest crossing to the US; Titanic was warned by other boats about icebergs, but kept going. The rest is history and almost 2000 people perished.

Our guide’s perspective was that the ship was perfect when it left Belfast and that the proof was in the arrogant and negligent navigational pudding. Nonetheless, the disaster hit Belfast’s ship-building reputation. 

The beautiful design of the Victorian City Hall sparked further discussion on the architecture downtown.

Sadly, Belfast very heavily bombed in World War II over 3 nights in April 1941 because of their well-known contribution to ship and air building for the English. Between the World War and the raging IRA bombings – multiple daily, according to the guide’s personal recollection – many great buildings were destroyed and replaced with functional and boring successors. This explains the eclectic mix of architecture in the inner city. 

Fortunately, buildings of historical value are listed and protected. One such being the majestic The Crown pub that we’d happened upon the previous day. 

Originally called The Railway Inn (because it was opposite old railway), the owner negotiated with a group of skilled Italian artisans who were in the city decorating a church to facelift his bar at night and on weekends. They obliged, hence the ornate work and the rename to the more regal and befitting The Crown.

It sits opposite the Europa Hotel which has the dubious honour of being the most bombed building in Dublin. A victim of poor timing, the hotel was opened at the start of the Troubles. The terrorism caused tourism to tank so the hotel was largely populated with press coming to cover the unrest. The IRA bombed it 33 times.

The IRA no longer exists but Shin Fein is now the leading party. According to a census two years ago, Northern Ireland is now majority Catholic, so could be headed for their first Catholic Prime Minister. And with all the contention around Brexit and having to get special dispensation because having EU borders between Northern Ireland and the Republic breaks the Good Friday Agreement… Watch this space indeed!

The tour ended at the Salmon of Knowledge (the Big Fish we’d seen the previous day) on the banks of the River Lagan, which flows through Belfast and into the Irish Sea. 

On the far side is the Titanic Quarter, with the museum and the minor ship building activities, mostly fitting luxury cruise ships. The addition of the residences, business and light industrial bits make it the biggest waterfront development in the world.

The Big Fish was erected to celebrate the return of salmon to the River of Lagan in 1999 for the first time in 200 years, with pollution having previously driven them away. A bridge had been installed to clean the the river by raising the level of the water and keeping it fast-moving. It not only brought back the fish, but also removed the smell, the eradication of which had stimulated development and tourism in the area. 

The Big Fish is filled with time capsules about life in Belfast in 1999 and with instruction not to open them for 100 years.

Who knows what the contributors chose to preserve. They would have been fresh off the end of the Conflict, in the Good Friday Agreement in Easter 1998. The militarised  borders and checkpoints would just have been removed. Tony Blair had just apologised in parliament for the treatment of the Irish people in the famine. They would no doubt speak of a city divided by religion, with peace walls gated at either end, locked every night at 7pm. (Still in place and locked nightly, and if placed end to end, stretch 21km). They would not yet have seen the population finally reach 7 million, as it is today, only now reaching the same as 1840s! And couldn’t predict that 3/4 of the population lives in the 200 mile strip between Belfast and Dublin! 

The parting shot was some advice on pubs and restaurants. Our guide said that one of downtown Belfast’s novel features is that pubs are required to be in back lanes so families can go about their business in the high streets undisturbed. 

We were delighted to already have visited some of his recommendations and – I couldn’t help it – asked for the cheapest pint in Belfast so we could pay a quick visit and add it to the Index.

That’s how we ended up having our last pint in Belfast as Wetherspoons, for £3.75.

It was a very quick one because we still had a roast lunch to squeeze in.

We got to Maggie May’s at 13h40, just 10 minutes off schedule. We were greeted and seated in the 9-table parlour room of this beautifully preserved Victorian house and served a steaming hot plate of roast beef, with mash and roast taties, carrots and parsnips, drenched in thick brown gravy.

And they lived happily ever after.

The end.

Travelogue N. Ireland 3: Derry & Enniskillen

DERRY & ENNISKILLEN

15 March 2023

Driving in from Bushmills and with only one night in Derry, we prioritised convenience and location for our choice of hotel. The City Hotel, on the banks of the River Foyle and with its view of the Peace Bridge, was perfect for our purposes.

Arriving around lunchtime, our room wasn’t ready yet, which was no problem as we had to speed off to our walking tour anyway. We dashed across town, and met our tour guide, Pat, a few minutes into his intro speech. 

He was telling the group that the name Derry derives from the old Irish word for Oak Grove, and that the original Oak Grove and its settlements were all located on a small hill, which was formerly an island in the River Foyle.

Turns out that he was responding to a common question “is the town called Derry or Londonderry?”; a short question with a long and complicated answer.

From 1541, when Henry VIII became King of Ireland, the English crown steadily sought to assert its control over Ireland.

From the 1550s, areas in the south and west of Ireland were planted with English settlers in the hope of establishing colonies and ‘taming Ireland’s most unruly provinces’.

This ‘plantation’ – newly planted citizens who were given land that often saw Irish farmers losing the land that they’d been working – had changed Ulster (the province that houses the 6 counties that make up Northern Ireland as we know it) beyond recognition.

In the space of a generation they had seen their social order crumble, their culture decline, their religion come under attack, and the landscape radically altered. Although 30,000 British planters had come to Ulster, they had not not been successful in displacing the native Irish in converting them to Anglicanism. 

Part of the Plantation budget was used to secure the town, which had now been renamed from Derry to Londonderry. Construction of the city’s walls began in 1613 and was completed in 1619 at a cost of £11,700. This was a mammoth sum back then!

The walls were designed to cope with recent advances in warfare, particularly the introduction of artillery. Ten metres wide, they consisted of an eight metre thick earthen rampart built with soil, dug from an encircling ditch, and clad with another 2m deep stone face. This meant that even if the outer wall was hit with cannon fire, the compacted earth still provided solid defence AND there was still the second inner stone wall to deal with even if there was time to wreck the outer wall and tunnel the earthen filling. Proper solid!

The walls contain four gates with rectangular towers rising above the city walls. The city within was laid out in a grid pattern at the centre of which was an open air diamond shaped meeting area (what would be the town square, in essence).

The walls were in astoundingly good condition for having stood for more than 400 years and the only adjustment that has been made in modern times, is to lay tarmac on top of the compacted dirt so that the wide walkway is no longer muddy and is more convenient for everyone to enjoy. We had been walking slowly along the wall from one Gate to another as Pat pointed out things of interest and historical significance.

The bulk of the story tells of the endless wrangles between the Protestants and Catholics. The second half of the 1600s was one of the bloodiest eras in Irish history, including the 105 day siege of 1689, where the Protestants closed the city doors, not only leaving the Catholics on the outside of the wall, but also having to wait them out without starving.

Similar standoffs continued to rage right until The Troubles in the late 20th century. There are still living relics, reminding us how recently this struggle happened in Derry. There are still high metal nets dotted along the walls, designed to protect some of the historically significant buildings that were the regular target of petrol bombing from other factions.

Concluding the tour, we went into the Guildhall, which is a free-access exhibition that tells the history of the town of Londonderry, with fun interactives. It also displays John Hume’s awards; the only person to have received the Nobel, Martin Luther and Gandhi peace prizes for his role in orchestrating the peace treaty.

Christian is particularly good at pinning on a mental map, so we then went to fill in the gaps of things he’d seen on the tour that warranted a closer look. Quite easily navigating the city, using the city wall as our guide, we found the mural of the Derry Girls from the popular TV show of the same name that we enjoyed immensely. 

On a more sombre note, we went to pay homage to the site of the Bloody Sunday massacre, with the memorial that now commemorates the landmark. According to Pat, it took years and years to formally evaluate what had happened that day, and it was finally found that the police had overreacted, and the bloodshed was avoidable. Short of the acknowledgement, no further action has been taken; sounds very familiar in light of how similar things are handled back home in South Africa.

By now on the hunt for dinner, we thought the evening’s arrangement would be an easy one since the oldest pub in Derry, which we had spotted on our way to meet the tour, had Chicken and Ham Pie on the menu, which were another box on the To Do list.

Of course, nothing is ever simple. We arrived at the restaurant, had a Guinness and found that we still had another 40 minute wait to get a table because there were two events happening in this venue. Unable to even order until we had secured a table, we would have been eating well after nine, which would not do.

We slipped into Plan B, which was a Dinner for Two set menu offer at our hotel restaurant with two 2 course meals and a bottle of wine for £50. We were unlikely to do much better. 

The hotel did us proud and the French onion soup and crispy bread was served quick and hot; appreciated after an afternoon of walking around in the rain. A roast dinner to follow washed down with an Italian merlot was just a bonus.

THURSDAY 

It seems that the best Irish weather is first thing in the morning.
Filling our boots from the hotel buffet, we checked out, but left the car in the parking lot as we went out to make the most of the sunshine. We took a walk across the Peace Bridge and a loop around the outer city wall, through the ‘West Bank Loyalists’ Protestant enclave with its red-white-and-blue painted enclave… at which time it started to rain, which was our cue to hit the road.

Today’s drive would see us covering 70 miles to see what the South West of Northern Ireland had to offer.

Enniskillen is a Fermanagh House county town 400 years in the making, founded by a charter of King James I in 1612, and grown as a plantation town under the guidance of Captain William Cole.
The name Enniskillen comes from the Irish ‘inis’ meaning island and ‘Cethlenn’ which is believed to be Kathleen (Queen of the Formorians) who, after being wounded in battle, took refuge on the island and died.

The island, chosen as a strategic site, was formally a McGuire stronghold, one of the medieval chieftains of Fermanagh. It is the only island town in Ireland. As well as houses in public buildings, there were wooden bridges, built at the east and west into of the island. These bridges have, of course, long since been replaced with modern concrete versions. The main street of Enniskillen runs the full length of the island, from one bridge to the other. We managed to keep ourselves entertained for the full afternoon on the small section of island.

We made a visit to Enniskillen Castle, which sits on the banks of the river just before the far bridge. Signboards outside the castle speak of how the Meadows make for a great meeting place to enjoy the day going by, assuming there is ever a day when it doesn’t rain.

We enjoyed a slow stroll along the length of the High Street, window shopping and reviewing the menus displayed in the many pubs and restaurants, looking for the ever-elusive pie.

The rain picked up a bit so we were forced to seek refuge in the Horseshoe & Saddlers pub to have a pint in a window table from where we could people-watch.

Being such a small town, we’d already ticked off all the landmarks so when the rain abated we returned to our hotel for some downtime. We’d booked in the motel section of the Enniskillen Hotel, so had 4 star amenities at our disposal for a 3 star price tag!

Having had a lighten than usual day, our massive breakfast lasted longer than usual and when dinnertime rolled around, it was more of a precaution than a requirement.

We decided to wander into town to see what grabbed us, starting with a pint of Guinness at the landmark Victorian pub, Blake’s of the Hollow.

Still not madly hungry, we were drawn to the more modern Firehouse to share a ridiculously good pulled pork and caramelised onion pizza.

Travelogue N.Ireland 1: Isle of Man

ISLE OF MAN

9-13 March 2023

Having spent the better part of a week with the family in Waterford, it was an easy connect to hop to Isle of Man for a weekend.

Christian had flown into Dublin Airport to join me and the family had graciously offered to drive me to Dublin, so we left Waterford at 10am in order to synchronise the meet-up (including a quick stop-in for a brunch snack at the heavenly Avoca Café en route.

It was bittersweet; sad to leave the family behind but pleased to see Chris again and to be embarking on a new adventure.

Despite well-oiled logistics seeing our plan executed perfectly, we were delayed in Dublin by our plane arriving late. 

Surprisingly, even though we only landed in Isle of Man just before 6pm, it was not yet sunset and we were able to get our rental car sorted and hit the road while it was still light.

We had booked to stay in the capital, Douglas, for 3 nights. Since the island is so small, it was easier to unpack and make one hotel our homebase and then explore the length and breadth as satellite trips.

Having downloaded offline Google Maps, we found our accommodation very easily. Arrandale House, a modest and well-priced hotel in the city centre opposite Hutchinson Square park, had easy access to the promenade, shopping streets, as well as the main artery road that would link us to the other towns.

There was snow everywhere, so we kitted up before heading out to explore our new surrounds. Hats, scarves, gloves, jackets… not the usual seaside outfit!

Down to the Promenade which, even in the dim evening light, looked impressive with its long crescent of Victorian facades lining the land side of the blue orb of the natural bay.

It was that witching hour of the evening when you get the best mix of people doing their thing in public places. While there were still some people jogging and cycling (in this weather, gasp!), there were others who had already had a ‘long day’ and were (hopefully) headed home, and others (like us – heading in, bearing in mind this was Friday night and a seaside holiday destination) on a mission to get fed and/or watered.

We walked from one end to the other to get our bearings and earmark things we wanted to see in the light of day, and then headed to the top-rated chippie for a fresh ‘n delicious seafood feast of bacon and garlic scallops to start, with crunchy battered flaky cod and salted vinegary chips as the main event to warm the cockles.

It had been a long day of travels – especially for Chris – and we had Netflix in our hotel room, so we opted for a movie night in so we would be fresh and ready to road trip the next day.

SATURDAY 

One of our criteria for accommodation was an inclusive breakfast package. Being largely stomach-driven, it adds immeasurable admin to have to source breakfast before the day can even start.

The Arrandale did us particularly proud with cereals, yoghurts, fruits and juices self-serve while the hot breakfast you choose off the laminated menu on the table is prepared. A hot bevvie of choice is also served almost immediately. Rare but appreciated, hot chocolate was an option… and served as a whole pot, which is usually a decadence reserved for tea!

With a full day ahead, the Full English was the only smart option. We’d barely had time to neck our starters and first cup of coffee/chocolate (respectively) when the plate of fried deliciousness was served to us.

Ready to take on the world, we packed all our warm gear into the rental car and hit the road, headed north.

Although Chris had prepared me with the knowledge that Isle of Man is 32 miles from north to south and 12 miles across at its widest point, I still had “road trip” in my head, so boy was I surprised when we got to our first stop, Onchan, in six minutes. 

It was so sudden that we didn’t even stop. It really felt like an extension – a suburb – of Douglas, so unlikely to produce any new adventure.

Soldiering on, at a leisurely 40 mph, we were still in the next stop, Laxey, in 20 minutes. 

We parked the car close to the primary landmark: the Great Laxey Wheel. 

Built in 1854 to pump water from the Great Laxey Mine complex, the ‘Lady Isabella’ (as it was fondly dubbed, after the wife of the Governor who commissioned it) is a feat of Victorian engineering. It was constructed as a power source; while the rest of the world was moving to steam power, Isle of Man had no coal so decided to use the abundance of running water as a hydro power source rather than being reliant on importing coal. It is still the largest working water wheel in the world today.

We returned to the car via Ham and Egg Terrace, so-named because the enterprising ladies who lived in this row of terrace houses – the longest under a single roof on all the island back then – served tea and refreshments to the stream of tourists who flooded in from the UK to have their holidays on Isle of Man and came to see Lady Isabella. One of these tea rooms still exists; Brown’s, established in 1906.

Having walked Laxey from end to end, and with nothing open even though it was midday on a Saturday, it was time to move on.

Again a short hop, Ramsey looked a lot more lively. We took a walk along the quayside and what looked like it must be an important bridge at the harbour, when the wind picked up and cut through us with its iciness.

With a sign outside The Commercial Hotel promising Guinness at £4.20 a pint, a short stint in front of the fireplace (and a logging on our Guinness Index) was exactly what the day needed.

The pub was already quite busy, so we occupied ourselves with eavesdropping the colourful conversation being passed between the bar lady and the (clearly regular) patrons that covered all sorts of things ranging from politics to very domestic situationships!

Plucking up the courage to resume our tour, we returned to the car and continued the journey to the north, to Point of Ayre, with its famed lighthouse called ‘The Winkie’.

It was so cold and windy that we did little more than nip out of the car, take some snaps and jump back into the car like we’d escaped an ice age!

It was very rewarding sightseeing, thanks for the super-short travel distances and easy access to points of interest so we felt the levels of achievement for the day warranted an early return to Homebase.

We got back to Douglas just in time. The rain had started to set in and the temperature had plummeted. Since our hotel room had Netflix, we took a couple of hours out to relax and hole in from the inclement weather outside.

Being Saturday night in Douglas, we needed to at least put some effort into trying one or two of the acclaimed pubs on the promenade.

It was a bit hit-and-miss, as we realised there were some pivotal sporting events that had the more popular bars full to bursting. Never shy of an Irish pub, we settled in O’Donnells in the shopping street for a pint while we planned next steps.

Following online recommendations, we tried the Thirsty Pigeon next, where a local called Finney adopted us, having seen my curiosity at the open entertainment section that he had discarded on the communal bar counter in front of him. 

I showed interest in the crossword blockbuster and asked the waitress for a pen; he introduced himself and joined in the game. We spent a couple of hours talking to him about the island while we populated the brainteaser games in the newspaper together. 

It was very definitely past our dinner time and Chris was highly motivated for an Indian meal so we headed back in the direction of home to hit up the curry den we’d earmarked on our way out.

Almost as if Finney had conjured the weather to illustrate the story he’d shared of Life on the Island, it was blowing a gale of cold air from the sea, exacerbating the light rain. Like a novice, I had our holi-brolly out, thinking it would combat the elements. On the contrary, the wind kept catching it and concaving it so forcibly and repeatedly that the poor thing didn’t stand a chance; the spokes buckled and it was soon sent to an undignified final resting place, rammed into Her Majesty’s bin.

A couple a few steps behind us chuckled good-nature fly as they witnessed my surrender. Clearly locals who knew better than to even bother. Tightening my hood and shoving my gloved hands deeper into my pockets, I joined the ranks of Grin and Bear It.

We arrived at a warm and dry Flavours restaurant ready to commit. Unfortunately they were not. “Fully booked”, they said.

Pfft.

Not skipping a beat, we went around the corner to Taste of Bengal. Also fully booked. We should have thought to reserve ahead as soon as we noted the drunken Stag parties and very very drunken Hen do at the Pigeon.

Sticking to theme, we resorted to a kebab instead, having passed one that smelled particularly alluring on our curry-hunt.

Quick, fresh and tasty, we were not disappointed! 

SUNDAY

Mixing things up a bit, I had the kippers – an Isle of Man speciality – for breakfast. Served in place of the sausage and bacon on an otherwise Full English plate, it was a bet well-placed. Yum!

The quest for the day involved crossing the island to Peel, on the West Coast. What may sound like a massive undertaking was in actuality only a 17km journey.

We were soon parked in the Old Market and picking a direction to explore. Drawn by the Castle, we headed quayside. 

On closer inspection, the castle was not open for access so we made do with a walk around the castle wall and imagining what had gone on inside.

We then took a turn through the Cathedral gardens. With the building boasting having occupied its position since the 4th Century, the gardens had been cleverly crafted into a timeline of exhibits of relics commemorating the bishops who had made their mark on it over time. 

Making use of the good weather, we added Port Erin onto our itinerary for the day. Although our origin and destination were both coastal, Google Maps took us on an inland route.

Despite not having fresh snowfall for days, the exposed hilltops combined with the icy winds had preserved the snow and made for a white-knuckle drive over the (fortunately) short distance.

Christian was forced to steer the little rental Noddy car to where mightier vehicles had forged tyre trails, and periodically give way to motorists from the other direction. Fortunately, the drivers in Isle of Man seem to be very unhurried and polite so it wasn’t difficult to negotiate oncoming traffic.

Arriving in Port Erin, we parked the car and struggled to find something to do. Town was shut tight for the weekend, so we did a bit of window shopping along the main street, and then walked along the quay side to the building at the end, which we hoped would be something interesting. It was not.

On the return journey, we did a stop-in at Bushy’s in the Bay Hotel to warm up, and have a swift pint. With the blazing fire, and a good playlist, it made for a very relaxing ‘excursion’.

On the way back to the car, we were horrified to see that there were people swimming in the sea.  Clearly not all locals were that crazy though, since there were friends and onlookers on the beach, dressed pretty much the same as we were with jackets, scarves, hats, gloves… Exactly what you would expect under these conditions. 

As now-seasoned tourists, we cleverly checked the curry house times upfront. We planned our evening around it so as not to be caught short again. 

We had a last few things to see in Douglas, so dropped off the car and hoofed along the promenade to the old town.

Masterfully ticking off the end of the To Do list, we were at Taste of Bengal in time to be their first table for the evening… We smugly worked our way through multiple courses with our bottle of red (from the dingy Off Licence downstairs) as the tables filled up around us. Fool me once, indeed! 

MONDAY 

We awoke to sunshine on our last morning. Well, sort of sunshine. It was bright and not raining.

… Until we were half way through our run on the promenade!

Fortunately we were dressed for it so didn’t get too drenched. And nothing that a hot shower, a pot of hot chocolate and a full English breakfast couldn’t cure.

Ahead of schedule, we enjoyed a leisurely drive down to Castletown. We had a couple of hours to wander around before getting to the airport for our flight to Belfast.

With no particular agenda, we made our way to the main attraction, Castle Rushen, first. The large wooden entrance door was shut tight.

While we were reading the information board and reviewing the open times, the door opened and a man appeared. He told us we were early for opening. And not just a few minutes; the castle was only opening for viewing for the season from 1 April. We were weeks too early!

Seeing our disappointment, he told us he had some business to attend to but to come back in half an hour and he would then let us in to have a quick look. 

It was easy to wile the time away, doing a quick circuit around the old town and reading the monument boards on the various historical landmarks.

We learnt that Castletown was once the ancient capital of the Isle of Man and the House of Keys across the road from the Castle was home to the Manx parliament between the years 1821 to 1874. It was at the centre of 19th-century political life and has been restored to its former appearance of 1866, a milestone in Manx history because the self-elected house took its first steps along the road to modern democracy by becoming a popularly elected Body, in essence forming the first parliament in the world.

Returning to the Castle at 11:30, the door was again shut tight. We pressed the bell, and another man greeted us at the door. He introduced himself as the Pest Control Guy and inviting us in. He directed us to our original host, who was in his office.

We were treated to a full hour of private tour into every nook and cranny of the castle, with commentary along the way as to how the castle had grown and provided service for more than a millennium.

Our host guided us through a couple of dining rooms, decorated to illustrate the very different eras that had enjoyed the space. We saw the Lord’s Chambers, the vault, the banquet hall, and got to see spectacular views from the castle battlements, right at the top of the building, with clear view as far as the eye could see in every direction.

Our host narrated the tour throughout, complimenting the living history exhibits with information about modern Manx, the people, the language, the economy and even his experience of the most recent plight, the Covid pandemic.

Thanking him profusely for his time and being so accommodating, we tackled the final strait to the airport to conclude our weekend.

We had seen and done everything on our list – and a few things that weren’t – and still only done 108km in total!

Travelogue Dusseldorf 2: Colchester

COLCHESTER

02 – 05 June 2022

Christian had been invited to meetings with clients in London after the Dusseldorf Trade Fair. The dates happened to coincide with Queen’s Jubilee long weekend (2 bank holidays in the UK) and we were able to take that Thursday and Friday as leave between the work commitments in order to maximise the time with our friends in Colchester before having to go to London to resume the work agenda.

Barely an hour’s hop from Dusseldorf to London, there wasn’t much time to do anything besides find space for the in-flight hospitality, which (hardly surprisingly for a morning flight departing from Germany) was a platter of cold meats, cheese, butter and bread.

We had booked a car to take us from Heathrow to the train station and Alex had booked our tickets to Colchester online in advance, all to streamline the planes, trains and automobiles required to traverse London – with our 4-seasons-sized luggage – to get to our friends.

For once, everything went more than according to plan and we found ourselves at the train station with an hour to spare, which was a nice change to the usual breakneck high-pressure bolting we’ve been known to do to both catch and miss trains in the past.

The train was very civilised; not too busy, clean and new, with free wifi, so it was a comfortable commute out of the throng of London and evaluating what we could see of the towns at each stop along the journey.

Alex was waiting for us on the platform when we arrived in Colchester Town; fortunately, with a car that could accommodate our massive suitcases.

We were greeted with much excitement, a run down of the plans that had been pencilled for us and a check-in on whether there were any special requests from our side on activities for the coming couple of days.

Our hosts had done a fabulous job of creating shared contribution to our entertainment plan. While we would be staying at Robbie’s house, Alex and Luke were responsible for picking us up and feeding us Thursday’s dinner, Johnnie and Lisa would be hosting Friday’s feast and everyone would join us at Robbie’s for a feeding on Saturday afternoon.

We were taken to drop off our bags at Robbie’s before driving round to Alex’s new place. Just around the corner from the place she’d lived at on our last visit, the new spot was in Lieutenant House, the extensively refurbished officers’ mess of the old Edwardian army barracks. Best of both worlds with new and modern interior juxtaposing the historical building and surrounds.

Although there is much evidence of being a military town in more recent history, Colchester was first an ancient Iron Age settlement, once ruled by Cuneobelin ‘King of the Britons’. Following the Roman Invasion in AD43, a city was established on the site of Camulodunum and designated the Roman capital of Britannia by Emperor Claudius. Its destruction at the hands of Boudicca is well-documented, but the Roman settlement rose up again and the remains of several buildings from this period can still be seen on a trip to the town.

Roman Colchester probably had a population of 10-12,000. That seems small in today’s world but in those days England had a tiny population so, by Roman standards, Colchester was a large and important town. Particularly so because of its position near the sea.

As far as we know Colchester’s status as a Colonia, awarded by the Emperor Claudius, has never been revoked, however Colchester has been long classified as a town… until 2022 when it was awarded official city status as part of The Queen’s Platinum Jubilee celebrations.

It was a lovely sunny day so we were able to lounge on the terrace – with Gary, Alex’s long-legged hounddog, naturally taking the best seat in the house and us arranging ourselves around him – catching up and catching rays before a leisurely lasagne early supper.

There were several festivities planned in town for Jubilee Weekend, so we decided to make the most of the pleasant evening and take a wander down to our first excursion; to the Colchester Arts Centre to attend the 35th Annual Ale and Cider Festival. The location was a converted church and we were briefed upfront that the standard practice is for guests to utilise the church’s graveyard as one would normally relax in a back garden, using the larger tombs as tables and benches.

With over 160 ales, ciders, Belgian beers, English wines, soft drinks and snacks on offer, and open from 12 noon to 11pm each day, we could have been there all weekend!

The countless kegs were arranged along the back and side walls with several servers talking the festival-goers through the options outlined in the printed menus. We had bought punchcards at the entrance, so it was quick and easy to order and start ticking off the options that intrigued us.

More in it for the novelty than the flavours, we tested some real very crafty craft beers that we would normally only order over our proverbial dead bodies… but since we were socialising in a literal graveyard, it seemed as close to those circumstances as we were going to get. It was a lively old time, sharing a laugh and comparing notes on beer samples with some of Alex and Luke’s friends.

Once we’d finished our punchcards, we took a walk into Colchester town to a pub called 3 Wise Monkeys, where we were able to get more conventional options.

Shortly, Robbie joined us. He’d been in Glasgow overnight watching a football match and had just arrived back on the train. And as if that reunion wasn’t joyous enough, soon thereafter Johnnie arrived!

It was quite novel to finish up at the pub and be able to walk home, stretching some of the tastings out in the fresh night air. Everything in Colchester seems such a manageable distance apart too.

FRIDAY

Alex had pre-booked us into a 9am Bootcamp class with her. Chris and I weren’t quite sure what to expect – and he feared the worst, thinking it would be quite prancy and aerobic. Nothing of the sort, we were split into teams of 3 and rotated running across the field carrying a sandbag, hoisting weights, lifting and dropping medicine balls… all while the teammate tasked with setting the timing for each activity had to do endless ‘burpies’ (drop to the floor, do a push-up, jump up again sort of thing). It was hard work! But fun.

Alex then dropped us back at Robbie’s house so we could change, grab a bacon sarmie and head back out again for another outdoorsy activity; walking down the river to a little neighbouring village called Wivenhoe. The inspiration was to give Gary a walk, the motivation was the beautiful blue sky and sunny weather, which was a blessing for these parts that couldn’t be squandered.

We set off as a merry group, chatting as we walked and admired the scenery. And telling Gary quite often what a Good Boy He Was.

The walk to Wivenhoe earned us a pint in the lovely Rose & Crown on the riverfront. It was too hot to sit with Gary at the exposed tables in the front, so we found ourselves a shady spot in the secret beergarden at the back.

With an impending feast at Johnnie’s in just a couple of hours, we resisted eating at the pub even though there was the most heavenly aroma of fish and chips lingering on the air.

Good thing too because it real wasn’t long before we’d caught the train back and walked over to Johnnie’s house, which was literally around the block.

Ever the decadent host, Johnnie had decided on a multi-course carnivorous adventure explaining to his wife, Lisa (who had yet to meet us) “Souf Effricans love their meat”.

Ensconced outside the shed in the back of their wonderfully full and green garden, Johnnie lit a Weber to smoke a massive tomahawk steak which was cut into thick and juicy strips for starter samples.

Johnnie had built a DIY pizza oven over lockdown, in which a wood fire was kindled to start off the Korean ribs. They were finished off in the oven – alongside a rather large leg of lamb – and the pizza oven then used to painstakingly manage baking several flatbreads, which Alex had made from scratch at home and carefully wrapped in brown paper to prevent them sticking together.

The food, the weather and the company made for a truly memorable afternoon (even with the bottle of Killepitsch Jagermeister-lookalike we’d brought from Dusseldorf).

SATURDAY

The Queen’s Jubilee weekend having given us the 2 bonus public holidays meant that by the time Saturday rolled around, we felt like we’d already had a full weekend. What a treat!

We had committed to do a Parkrun on Saturday morning to sweat out a bit of the indulgent Friday feasting. Showing mercy, Alex and Luke drove us through to Mersea Island which was a flatter course along the water’s edge which should make the 5km track a little easier to manage under the circumstances (a brutal combination of the Bootcamp stiffness and the party effects).

Helped a lot by the weather no doubt (grey and overcast, but clear, and cooler than the previous days) we all ran really well, most setting Personal Best times, which was quite an achievement! … That earned us a Full English breakfast at a local restaurant.

Driven back to Robbie’s, we had time to shower, relax and watch a bit of telly (lots of coverage of the Jubilee festivities in London) before heading out to get last minute supplies for our reciprocal hosting duties later that afternoon, where Robbie had promised everyone roast chicken and chips.

We took the scenic route to the shops, ending off in Castle Park with its Roman ruins and War memorial statues. SO much history in this town-recently-turned-city!

By now the sun had come out and it was another beautiful day, which could not be wasted on chores alone, so we grabbed a cheeky pint at The Castle Inn pub for time to absorb our surroundings. This included spotting that they did a Sunday Roast and, always being a meal ahead in the planning stakes, we immediately mentally committed to return the next day for our final meal before needing to leave for London.

Robbie’s house had a courtyard garden, which we took advantage of on our return home, setting up at the table outside so we could easily man the kitchen as well as bask in outdoortime opportunity.

The remainder of the group trickled in, and, being such engaged eaters, each stopped to peek at the stove, stir a thing, sample, add a something, offer some sage advice, sample again. It was wonderful and the kitchen smelt like heaven.

Robbie had recently bought an airfryer, so even I was able to contribute, offering to man the chips and showcase the wonderment of this modern domestic miracle machine. I cheated a bit, splitting the bag of oven chips into batches, pre-cooking and seasoning each batch and then throwing them all in together as the more sophisticated bits of the meal were nearing readiness.

Robbie had outdone himself! Prosciutto and green asparagus starters, followed by the golden roasted quarter chicken legs with bright green steamed broccoli stems and TWO sauces; a traditional bread sauce (which was a childhood favourite of his that none of us knew about) and a heavenly white wine and mushroom sauce.

We ate, we laughed, we shared stories, we debated the playlist, we drank, we laughed, we ate some more. What a brilliant day!

Once the others had all left, Chris, Robbie and I turned on the telly to watch the Jubilee Concert being held outside Buckingham Palace. We had tuned in quite well into the show and were greeted with Rod Stewart belting out “Sweet Caroline”. Not his song. How odd.

That was not the last surprise in the eclectic collection of performers, young and old, classic and contemporary, British and international. No clear golden thread of who or how these artists had found themselves on this line-up, interspersed with speeches by Prince Charles, Prince William, an Attenborough and the likes.

The lights show, projected onto and above the Palace, was truly spectacular in quality and pure magnitude and we wondered how they could have practiced it without giving the game away.

It was soon lights out for us; having had a very long and very full weekend.

SUNDAY

Sadly, Sunday was our time to leave Colchester. We held true on our last hurrah being the traditional Roast at The Castle Inn and were seated at a big table at the window (the weather had turned and it was most certainly indoor conditions) by 11h30, ready and raring to go.

We had the most delicious plate of roast lamb and ALL the trimmings; Yorkshire puddings, 3 veg, roast potatoes, sage and onion stuffing…  and 2 large gravy boats provided without even having to ask. If we lived in Colchester, this is where you would find us every Sunday for sure.

Alex and Luke drove us down to the Colchester train station for our 1pm train that would see us in London within an hour.

With a train strike on the go and heavy luggage in tow, we didn’t hesitate to grab a cab to get us to our hotel, the Dorsett in Shepherd’s Bush.

We had made arrangements to go and visit friends of ours from South Africa for Sunday sundowners at a Jubilee street party in their road in Hampton Hill. Although only a few miles away, it was still a good half hour in an Uber so we headed straight out so we’d be able to make the most of our time.

They were delighted to see us! We spent a couple of quality hours at their kitchen table, catching up on the 5 or so years it had been since we saw them last (when we’d done a flyby visit past their old house in Twickenham on our way out of the previous UK flit), before testing out their street party.

Good on the UK government; they had encouraged citizens to celebrate Jubilee in style by not only closing off portions of the roads that applied, but also providing an allowance to be spent on party requirements like food, marquees, equipment etc! It was such a great opportunity for neighbours to get to know each other, and very patriotic with Union Jack bunting and party favours.

Such a pity it was a Sunday and this was a work trip, because we had to be sensible and return back to our hotel at a reasonable time in order to accommodate the Monday workday – a particularly early start since the UK was an hour behind South African time, so we’d be logging on at 7am to keep in sync.

MONDAY

Largely uneventful as a working day, I had logged in and been glued to my laptop all day while Christ went off in a taxi (thanks to the train strike) to his work appointments. He did have a very successful day and returned with gushing stories about the sites he’d seen and how many innovation ideas he would be able to return home.

We were supposed to have met Faye for an after-work drink and a catch-up, but with us in West London and her in East London and a train strike to contend with, the logistics would be so cumbersome to get from A to B that we might as well not have been in the same city at all.

With no commitments, we decided to rather take a walk around our neighbourhood and find a curry house to enjoy the last meal of our trip. We lucked upon the Rajput and had a(nother) very large meal with a BYO bottle of red from the convenience store next door.

Again, we revelled in the opportunity to walk off our meal on the way back to the hotel. So much so that we bypassed our door to do a lap around the Shepherd’s Bush Green across the road.

Travelogue Newcastle 2

NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE 2

08-11 October 2015

Our walk to the bus station in Reykjavic at 5.30am (!) was easier than both our arrival walk and our expectation. Apparently bloody cold doesn’t feel any bloody colder bloody early! As if by way of an approving farewell after our awesome adventure, the Northern Lights blinked green flashes on the few clear patches of the otherwise cloudy sky, by way of farewell.

We made good time and immediately boarded the bus (with 15 minutes to spare) to nap on the 40 minute commute to the airport which, as usual, was a waiting game with little but foraging for breakfast to keep us entertained until departure.

It makes good sense to be knackered for an Easyjet flight though. The seats are wide and comfortable enough but with no reclining and no entertainment, it’s best to be tired enough to sleep away the journey. Fortunately, my niggling cold and antihistamines from the airport rendered me unconscious, so I’m sure it was a lovely enough flight for those that were “there” to enjoy it.

Manchester Airport is another thing entirely. The car hire is at an off-site ‘village’ so we were guided to a shuttle bus stop that would lead us to the chariot that would get us back home to The Toon. It took forever to come…

And then – horror of horrors! – I found out that Alex had booked with Europcar… which anyone who lived through our Spain Great Car Hire Saga of 2013 would know was questionable territory for us. But, when we made Christian co-driver on the rental agreement our agent, Yakov, said he was already loaded on the system and upgraded us to a large Skoda stationwagon “for all our luggage”, which totalled 2 small carry-on cases and 2 togbags. Still, it was very roomy and comfortable so small mercies from the karmic wheel turning.

The English countryside is prettier than its given credit for and we all wondered why we never road trip the journey rather than mapping the destination.

We made it back to Tynemouth in one piece, largely thanks to Alex’s tireless driving and navigating (with a small special mention to the Burger King at the truckstop), in time to refresh and jump on the Metro to Newcastle Central for our concert.

The concert venue, the O2 Newcastle, has the feel of a converted theatre in size and layout, but must’ve been a concert hall for a fair amount of time based on the lived-in wooden flooring and the smell of stale beer.

The tickets had advertised starting time as 7pm – which seemed fitting with Bad Manners‘ frontman (Buster Bloodvessel) well into his sixties – so we were relieved on arrival to see it was still a supporting act on stage. There was, in fact, still another supporting act to follow – a tribute band called The Extra Specials, who specialise in covering The Specials’ songs – and soon the fatter aging fans were huffing and puffing from their pogo’ing and carrying on.

Most of the audience had made efforts to dress the part for the evening and there were more Oxblood Doc Martens in one place than I can remember ever seeing, even in our heyday. Braces, brogues, monochromatic outfits – the uniform for the non-conformist!

Bad Manners gave an excellent (and lengthy) performance and the crowd gave an equally enthusiastic response, with some of the older fellas taking survival breaks along the way.

We shouldn’t point fingers too much though since after the concert, early hours of Christian’s birthday ‘n all, our after-party of choice was not to party all night in Newcastle, but to go home and midnight snack on toasted cheese sarmies!

FRIDAY

The weekend’s arrangements in general were much looser since we’d done all our sightseeing the previous weekend. We’d already made plans to meet Natalia and Uncle Bill at Lui’s for a coffee at 11 and Lucy, Mick and the kids at the new fish shack on King Edward Bay for lunch, so had the luxury of a lie-in and breakfast of choice for Christian’s birthday, bacon sandwiches. Alex and Robbie had been nice enough to sneak out and drop off the car (in Newcastle Central) so met up with us at Lui’s.

It’s always nice to meet in person people who you’ve heard so much about or sort-of know from Facebook. Feels like you’ve got so much catching up to do with people you’ve never even met before!

Our coffee date went all too quickly so we convinced Natalia to come to lunch with us. Uncle Bill was having none of that (“in my day fish ‘n chips were for poor people!”) but was easily talked into a lunch date for noon the following day for a carvery at The Gibraltar Rock, so there was no need for long goodbyes and we all had something to look forward to.

That said, we were off to lunch. The Riley’s Fish Shack was quite a surprise – far off the usual greasy chippie, the choices were mackerel, red mullet or monkfish all served in a paper basket lined with a wood-fired oven bread akin to a naan, with the fish and 3 scoops of 3 different salads nestled around the edges and an artistic swirl of 2 different sauces to top it off. Everything was fresh and crunchy and between the naan-like bread, the sambal-like salad and the curry-like sauce swirl, Christian was pleased as punch with his birthday lunch!

We’d been very lucky with the weather (enough so that there had been half-naked swimmers at the fish shack! Not that it was anywhere near warm enough to warrant that, mind!) so decided to make the most of the clear day and enjoy a beer at a pavement table in the sunshine on Front Street. Everyone else seemed to have the same idea and the only available table was at the Working Man’s Club, which was good enough for us.

As soon as the sun started setting behind the church it started to get chilly, which was perfect impetus to get us moving to get home and into warmer evening gear for the trip to Newcastle for the New Zealand vs Tonga game.

It was the last game of the day so, at a19h45, allowed us opportunity for a civilised dinner in Tynemouth, rather than competing with the crowds in town.

The pie, mash and gravy at the Turks Head was so good it felt like it was MY birthday! The menu format is very simple and effective, guiding you through choice of pie flavour (chicken & mushroom, steak & ale, venison or potato & leek), choice of mash variant (plain, cheesy, horseradish or mustard), choice of side (peas, mint peas, mushy peas or beans) and then sauce (gravy or red wine sauce) so you get the exact combination you want. And for a fiver it was a quality bargain meal! It was so filling that we were all a bit sluggish on the journey and the boys didn’t even have a drink in the first half of the game!

There had only been 2 rugby tickets for this game so Alex and I had a wander around the town and the fan park then cut through the China Town to get to Harry’s, where we’d planned to meet the boys later. Even with our walking, we were still a bit full so nursed a drink while we people-watched.

The boys joined us soon after and showed us a video of the stand-off between the Kiwi’s Haka and the Tongan equivalent. The stadium was pin-drop silent during the performance but roared in appreciation when the players were done. I zoned out on the rest of the feedback from the game since NZ always win, don’t they?

We caught a cab back to Front Street, where it looked like things were winding down… but we still managed to get in last rounds with Mick at a spot we hadn’t yet tried, called Lola’s.

SATURDAY

Our last day allowed us a very leisurely start, only needing to be at the carvery for noon. Of course, this also meant we were *ravenous* when we got there and dished up *way* too much food… and finished *all* of it. Three roasts, four veg, two (types of) potatoes, Yorkshire pud; all swimming in gravy and all gone very quickly!

The Cain contingent across the table (Uncle Bill, Natalia and Aunty Mary) had dished more conservatively, but seemed to enjoy their meal just as much so we can conclude that it’s a winner even when the meal isn’t as much of an emergency life/death situation. (And a bargain at 2 people for 10 Pounds!)

Even with the frenzied feeding upfront, we still enjoyed a leisurely lunch date and a lengthy chat. We bid farewell to Uncle Bill and Aunty Mary from there, but Natalie caught the Metro into Newcastle with us because she had a shopping date planned with her friend, James. She also tipped us to visit the Grainger Street Market if time allowed after the game.

We made it to the stadium in the nick of time, hearing the Samoan anthem as we were walking in and getting to our seats just in time for the opening bars of “Flower of Scotland”. Our seats were near the front of the section behind and just to the right of the posts that saw all the action in both halves – the Samoan offensive in the first half and Scotland’s in the second. To my mind, we could not have asked to be better placed for a game that seemed to have more than the usual tryline action.

After the game we made our way back to Grey Street so the boys could watch the Australia game while we went to investigate the market. It was relatively late for the market so most of it was shut already, but there were still a few shops worth investigating.

Intent on (another) curry dinner, we made our way back from Newcastle to Tynemouth to have a sit-down at Gate of India. It had other ideas however and we were put off by the long queue for both in-dining and take-away so cut our losses and headed for home for sausage sandwiches instead.

SUNDAY

Our quiet night had us up and fresh early on Sunday for our final packing and cleaning before meeting Mick and Lucy at Lui’s for breakfast at 9, so that Alex and Robbie could be off for their 10h30 train back to London, Mick could get to work and Lucy and the girls could get Christian and I to the airport for 11.

Another brilliant holiday all wrapped up; thanks to all the people that made it possible and special! And thanks to Newcastle Upon Tyne; we will be back!

Travelogue Newcastle 1

NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE 1

01-04 October 2015

Having sworn I’d never holiday in the UK again (because of the dreadful state of the Rand and a worldful of as-yet unexplored destinations), the last thing I’d imagined was breaking the pledge to attend a sporting event, of all things.

But Christian was very excited to have been (a bit too) successful (if you ask me) in the IRB lottery and had secured tickets to all 3 Rugby World Cup 2015 matches being played in Newcastle Upon Tyne. Since I’d never been to Newcastle, wanted to see his birthplace, would get to see his favourite cousin and had our trusty travelmates joining us from London, it all seemed like a swimming idea!

Better yet Christian’s aunt and uncle offered to house swap for us and (favourite) cousin Lucy volunteered to fetch us from the airport. So, since it was homeground and there was no “what to do” research to be done, there was little else to do but book flights and wait impatiently for what promised to be a cracking holiday.

The wait was well worth it and we were greeted with warm welcome – by the Newcombe ladies: Lucy and her daughters, Nell and Effie – and warm weather, which I’m told is a rarity.

The airport was close to town and it was a pretty scenic drive through the countryside and winding village roads, so it was more of an experience than the chore it is back home. We were soon at our holiday digs, a charming home in the very lovely Tyneside; parallel and one road in from the Whitley Bay beach and a short trot into the action on Front Street.

Keen to take advantage of the perfect blue-sky day, we were out the door a quick shower-and-change later, and headed on foot to see some of what our locale had to offer.

Tynemouth is beautiful and quaint, like a slice of history untouched by time. Some effort and dedication must have been put in to maintain the turn-of-the-last-century-and-before buildings and retain the elegant facade of the much-prettier architecture from a time where form surpassed function.

We took a turn down Front Street, which was a buzz of activity with patrons from generous helping of coffee shops, pubs and restaurants spilling outside to pavement tables, enjoying the sunshine. Lucy pointed out the highlights as we listened intently and mentally mealmapped feeding times for our short stay.

The end of Front Street brought us out at at The Priory, where we turned left and walked along the coastline to Longsands for a nibble at Crusoe’s on the beachfront – delicious steak pie and sausage roll (made with real pork sausage).

Little Nell had a lovely runaround in the sand but – lacking the necessary play paraphernalia since our excursion had been spontaneous and on foot – had to settle for the promise of a return visit the following day for a proper beach playtime in the “sandysandsand”, as she called it.

It was only a short walk back to the house, to my surprise still moving in the same direction as we’d come from; revealing we’d walked in a big loop and reinforcing my shocking sense of direction.

Wanting to make the most of our time together, we tagged along with the Newcombes to their house, where we had a leisurely mooch-about until Mick got home from work. Nell insisted on a “walk around the block”, so we went to the shops. Another lovely neighbourhood, we enjoyed the stroll around Whitley Lodge, appreciating how different everything was to home and feeling quite content with clean and open suburbanness of it all.

With the girls fed and off to bed, we called in for a curry and settled in at the diningroom table for a yummy dinner and quality time with quality company.

On Friday morning Lucy called in for us just after 9 and we took an amble to Front Street for breakfast at Lui’s.

And what a breakfast it was! Cumberland sausages, Lorne sausage, black pudding, white pudding, doorstop toast, eggs, beans, mushrooms, tomato… spoilt for choice! We vowed a return over the weekend with the London contingent.

… who were due to arrive imminently, so we made our way back to the house…

… with 20 minutes to spare.

The usual joyous reunion, our friends were as delighted as we had been to see how lush our accommodation was and just as eager to see what Tynemouth had to offer based on our enthusiastic reviews of what we’d seen and done so far.

We took then down the now-familiar route to Front Street, where they oooed and aaahed as we had about the prettiness of it all.

We started the walking tour with a stop-in at “The Land of Green Ginger“, an old very traditional-looking church that had suffered waning parishioners and thus had been converted into a shopping arcade in 1980, despite religious influences wanting the church to be demolished rather. It’s quite comical to see an old school church with a giant plastic ice-cream cone model at its door, beneath a banner pronouncing the church to be the home of an ice-cream parlour.

As you walk into the church, there’s a big brass plaque with a list of names of parishoners who volunteered to fight in the second Anglo-Boer War (the one that the British won), counting among them Christian’s great-grandfather, Peter Slater.

We then walked the length of Front Street – pinpointing establishments we intended to sample – and walked up to the Priory. We decided to forego the tour, opting rather to walk the length of the pier to the lighthouse at the end. The pier is quite a length and has a twin eminating from the opposite bank of the river, together guiding ships safely into the mouth of the Tyne.

From there our next stop was the Collingwood Statue – a monument to the Admiral who led the first British ship into the Battle of Trafalgar. The statue of Collingwood himself is set high atop a stone column, with wide stone steps below flanked by four of the actual canons from his ship, The Sovereign. The view from the monument’s park looks out to sea and was particularly spectacular with the sunny clear day contrasting the bright green grass with the backdrop of blue skies and seas.

From there it was a stone’s throw to our ultimate destination, Northshields Fish Quay, for lunch. A bit hot under the collar though, we stopped in for a Magners cider in The Quay Taphouse before making our way to have fresh and plentiful fish and chips at The Waterfront restaurant.

A bit overspent on time, we hightailed back, deftly navigating a shortcut through town, to Longsands to meet Lucy and the kids.

The beach was quite busy, with people clearly making a plan to come and enjoy the quite unseasonal summer’s day in Autumn. While warm and sunny, it certainly wasn’t swimming weather by home standards and we didn’t want for swimwear nor regret being in jeans.

On the beach Lucy had spotted people she knows and on our way out we all bumped into some people Christian had met when he’d been out a few years ago so. Combined with our confidence at navigating around the town, the welcome was as warm as the weather to feel like a local on our first full day of holiday!

We celebrated our good spirits with a stop in at Copperfields, a traditional pub located behind the – one would guess aptly named – Grand Hotel, and then were back on the road for a sunset walk along the waterfront.

Not really sure of where we were or where we were going, but knowing we couldn’t go far wrong as long as the sea was on our right, it took encountering a tourist sign to realise we’d walked from Longsands, through Cullercoats and almost missed Whitley Bay!

We turned inland and had a pint at the King George pub, momentarily homesick from other patrons who had their dogs with them. That said, none of our lot would behave well enough to socialise in this manner, so we’d miss them just as much even if we had brought them with us!

We decided our next stop would be the Avalon biker bar that Christian had visited and enjoyed on previous visits… but were disappointed when we found the venue and the bar had been closed down. The entire street was largely boarded up pubs and clubs though, so we surmised we’d stumbled into the graveyard of what had previously been the thumping heart of The Best Stag Do Destination of not so long ago.

Never known for dwelling on disappointment for too long, we went into Fitzgeralds instead – a large pub, oddly empty, especially bearing in mind there were 2 burly bouncers manning the entrance. That said, they spent the entire duration of our pint denying a girl access to the pub despite her heatedly and stubbornly negotiating at them.

Turning the corner and going into the Fire Station, we got a taste of what the Stag Do phenomenon was all about, thanks to a large and rowdy group of lads circling their victim – a poor chap in a fullbody penis costume – goading, issuing dares and plying shots and beers at a rate of knots (no doubt enabled by the crazy “buy in bulk” drinks specials).

We escaped to the pub next door, The Victoria, only to be exposed to more of the same. Literally. Penis Man and Friends had trailed in behind us.

Christian, in a well-timed display of voice-of-reason, bundled us into a taxi back to the far more civilised Front Street, where we ticked Cumberland Arms and The Priory off our list with quick nightcaps before walking home.

SATURDAY

Saturday was grey and overcast, but fortunately still dry. Christian and I were up early so we wandered up to the shops to source orange juice and such, and were rewarded for our efforts by a magnificent find: Heinz tinned pork sausages and beans! Which made an excellent pre-breakfast, in advance of the brilliant bacon butties that would ensue when the others rose.

Fed and feeling far better than we ought to, we headed out to see what Newcastle Upon Tyne had in store for us.

The Metro station hosted a market on weekends which, with a random mix of bric-a-brack new and old, looked like it warranted some time to be earmarked for a proper look the next weekend.

The Metro was quick and easy – but quite pricey at 3 Pounds some change for one way – and we were soon in Newcastle.

Right in front of us was the first sight of relevance – the Earl Grey Statue. We stopped to take a group photo and a kind passerby offered to take the pic for us so we could all be in it. Sadly, she was more enthusiasm than talent so, while she was painstaking about getting the 4 of us all into the pic, she cut off poor Earl Grey. Since she was so nice about being part of the whole moment, we were too polite to reset for the pic… and I was going to have to settle for including a Google pic into the photo album for the holiday!

Grey Street was a very elegant road of serious buildings, unfettered by modern glass skyrises, that leads down to the river at the Tyne Bridge (which Christian revealed is an exact replica of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, built for practice at exactly a third of the size).

Walking along the river took us to Millennium Bridge, where we were highly amused by a busker passionately singing (clearly a song penned with his own ink judging by his emotional and animated delivery) about how London is full of “aliens, paedophiles and Tory twats!”

We were still laughing when we got to the other side of the bridge… and were still humming his tune as we walked around the Baltic Art Gallery on the Gateshead side of the river.

All our walking necessitated a whistle wetting, so we popped into the Pitcher & Piano back on the Newcastle side of the bridge, near to our busker who unfortunately seemed to have run out of steam and apparently had no more eccentric episodes to share. No mind. His one hit wonder was unexpected and unforgettable.

Next I was treated to a first-but-no-chance-last experience at Gregg’s Bakery, a chain of pie shops. I had a baked bean, cheese and banger pie. What an epic combo!

Our return journey up Grey Street was quite different since everywhere was heaving with rugby supporters – lots confusingly in Bok jerseys and kilts – and the Samoa vs Japan game was being projected on a big screen at the base of the Earl Grey Statue.

We paused to enjoy this new atmosphere, taking in a pint at Harry’s and grabbing a pulled pork roll from one of the food stalls (who were coining it, churning out rolls at no less than 5 Pounds a pop).

The St James Park Stadium was conveniently located just up the road and we’d timed it perfectly, arriving minutes before the opening ceremonials.

The atmosphere was electric, with quite an even representation of South African and Scottish fans fuelling the friendly rivalry of warcries and chanting. Even I, not one for sport at the best of times, couldn’t help getting swept up in the moment and yelling at the field, mostly encouraging but with intermittent exasperation when the Boks hinted at lagging performance. Either way, we won the game with a convincing 34-16 and all of us but Robby were thrilled with the outcome.

The roads were carnage after the game so we quit while we were ahead and jumped into a cab back to Tynemouth.

… which was also heaving when we got back, thanks to (what felt like) the entire town’s contingent in the pub to watch the England vs Australia game.

We had a quick drink in Barca and then moved over to The Turk’s Head pub across the way because it was conveniently situated next to the Gate of India restaurant, where we planned to source dinner from.

Our thinking was solid and our order placed at halftime was ready just as the game concluded, meaning we could escape the air of disappointment in the pub following England’s loss (and consequent ejection from this World Cup) and retreat to our very lovely holiday house with (another) curry feast.

SUNDAY

Sunday was slated to be a late-start morning, with nothing to do except be ready for our cab, which was booked to collect us at 13h30 to drive us to Edinburgh to fly to Iceland.

We’d scheduled a brunch with Lucy at our now-favourite Lui’s and were well-rested and spring-stepped when we left home at 09h45 for the short walk to the breakfast heaven that awaited us.

It was just what the doctor ordered and we thoroughly enjoyed the blur of eggs and pork products that constituted what can only be described as a “generous” breakfast.

Bursting from our feasting, we volunteered to walk the long way home, up toward the local Sainsbury’s, overshooting past the soccer fields and emerging opposite the far end of our road and were still home with an hour to spare to pack, relax and have a laugh with some Friends reruns on telly before our cab driver arrived bang on time.

There’s something to be said for the comfort and convenience of door-to-door cab service… especially if you’ve got 4 people to share the 120 Pounds fixed fare. We were delivered to Edinburgh airport in perfect time with nothing to worry about except being excited for the next episode of our adventure.

Travelogue Canada 6: Preston

PRESTON

6 -8 November 2009

Let’s set the scene for pre-Preston to get things into context…

Thursday night in London went south. Then further south. Tres typical considering the guest list. Was a laugh though, including beers, stories old and new, nostalgia, giggles, jagerbullets, photos, snacks, haircuts, cider, towel capes, seeing the whole of the moon, brandy (?) and OJ, leftover lamb, Rocky Horror Picture Show and much much more ’til 4 in the morning.

Unsurprisingly Friday morning was a dog show. And the first morning I had to wake up with an alarm at 07h30.

Faye and I trotted down to the corner shop which, mercifully, was on the closest corner to the house, making for a 3.5min round trip including acquiring the shopping – bread and tins of All Day Breakfast. Yes, finally sampled it. Although was a different brand so it had ‘egg omelettes’ instead of ‘egg nuggets’ and didn’t have the ‘chopped pork’ so this still remains a mystery. The verdict? It’s like tinned beans, but with bits in with a different texture to the beans. Not unpleasant, but not something you’d crave (distinct from craving for tinned beans).

Felt a bit better after brekkers, but this clearly isn’t saying much. The (usual and inevitable) teary farewells as was once again parted from some of my favourite people in the world 🙁 Fortunately, retained custody of Faye, who accompanied me to the tube station and all the way to Stockwell. We parted ways none too soon as was suffering from an extreme bout of claustrophobia from being squished on the Tube with too much clothing and luggage and not enough space or air. Was all too rushed a farewell from the last of my merry London friends, but probably for the best in that more time probably just opens the door for more trauma.

Took a moment or 2 to catch breath, regain normal body temperature, attempt composure, realise 2 out of 3 was good enough, and head for Heathrow. Largely uneventful and, for once, had planned so much buffer time, that arrived and 15 minutes ahead of time and headed for the check-in counter.

Am not sure why they bother with the self-serve check-ins seeing how much time the baggage check-in takes anyway – had plenty of time when i started in baggage queue and left with 5 mins until boarding closed… with my backpack which I’d planned to check-in but they made me keep since my suitcase was overweight. Got to the security queue at the gates and realised that I had all my toiletries in my backpack as this was the bag I was using for the weekend so as not to have to repack my suitcase.

What a process!

They emptied the toiletry bag, individually bagged the liquid items (which I still don’t understand seeing as the bags are clear and the toiletries can still see each other, so surely if they’re the aggro types they’d find a way to still box each other??) and put them through the scanner. Everything passed except the body lotion. Maybe because it wasn’t rose-scented aqueous cream which we know is the lotion of love…?

This mission left me VERY late. High-tailed to the gate – typically the furthest gate possible – complete with PA announcements telling me of last warnings and such other totally unhelpful things. So very almost missed that flight.

Was hot, bothered, tired and miserable by the time I sank into my seat. Fortunately a relative empty flight so I had my own row and could whimper softly to myself with no obvious loss of dignity.

Was yet another delight to be told that the flight was to be delayed because some starter function on the plane wasn’t working (very reassuring) and they had to wait for some outside unit to come and start the engines. Of course, said miracle starter was busy starting another plane (again not assured that there are so many flying machines out there requiring the AA) and by the time the starter thingie was ready we’d lost our take-off spot <sigh> ended up taking off after we wwere scheduled to land in Manchester! (which sounds a lot more dramatic than it is seeing as it’s a half hour flight). managed to grab a nap en route, which did me a world of good.

My cousin, Mikayla, fetched me at the airport and it was a giggly and excited reunion with lots and lots news (from the 16 years – yes, half a lifetime! – since last we were in the same place at the same time) to catch up on, making the drive from Manchester to Preston feel a lot quicker than it is (or should have been in my unfortunate state).

Back to Mikayla’s to chill and couch a bit while she went off to fetch her daughter, Isla (2,5 years), and whizz past her goddaughter’s birthday while I showered and tried to regain personality.

Was a gloriously chill night in, with couch, telly, easy company (Mikayla, her other half Dave, and Isla ’til her – very envious – bedtime at 19h00) and perfectly-spot-hitting curry take-aways.

SATURDAY

Saturday we did some grocery shopping (still excited by the prospect of finding a new weird and wonderful that we don’t get at home) and some banking for me and then headed off to visit our Great Grandma – a spirited little (literally, she’s like a tall midget!) old lady who turned 99 in June! I don’t remember her really, having only seen her when I was an infant and then for a quick visit in ’93, but I’m glad to have touched base with my namesake (the middle one I don’t talk about) nonetheless. And a bonus to be there during the ‘Birds of Prey’ matinee.

Was a bit of a family reunion all in all as Marie and Paula (my father’s mother’s sister’s daughters, so technically our second cousins although they’re mid-30s so feel more like cousins) came as well along with Paula’s 11 year old son, Brandon (a strapping lad who looks more mid-teens). Lots and lots to catch up with them not having seen Paula since 1998 nor Marie since 1977 (!!!)

We retired to McD’s (light snack: deli sweet chilli chicken sandwich and Caramelicious McFlurry) and more chatting and catch-up. As usual, no problems with conversation flow or speech speed, so I think that we’ve covered more ground than the amount of time normally would allow! :o)

Saturday night we were off to a tapas dinner. Just Mikayla and me, with Dave dutifully staying home to babysit. Was awesome. So well suited to my indecision by being lots of bits of lots of stuff. We narrowed our choices to end up ordering:
– fillet (medium rare) with mushrooms and Stilton cheese
– king prawns in garlic butter
– sweet chilli chicken breasts with extra chilli
– black pudding with chourico and caramelised red onions (was unsure about this one, but M’s insistence proved right)
– honey-glazed baked baby potatoes
– ciabatta with garlic oil and balsamic (that was interestingly so thick it was more the consistency of runny Bovril)

Was a great 3-hour+ dinner catch-up. Nice and leisurely. And excessive. And yum.

SUNDAY

Resolved to call Grandmother to try and go for a visit. No answer, left voicemail. No reply. So, better option: go for breakfast (at least we know we’ll enjoy that!!)

After that we popped past Great Grandmother again to drop off some lilies and then off the airport (again) to get back to London (again) and finally head for home.

Was super-ready to get back – even though I’d had a blast – after a mammoth trek of a holiday!

Travelogue Canada 5: London

LONDON

3-5 November 2009

Nabbed a nap on the train from Wales to London – helped that we got one of those double seats that face each other with the table in middle. Light snack of roast ox kettle-fried chips, quavers (Chipnik style cheese chips) and a rocking tomato juice that was all spicy ‘n stuff and BEGGING for a splash of vodka!

Deftly maneuvered the undergrounds to get to Balham (no mean feat since Barry’s new cruise mode is 30 miles an hour, which is 50km an hour… and I now do ‘whoosh’ sounds and motions to anything faster *warning to new party car drivers!!*) and a short walk later were presenting ourselves at Lix and RoRo’s door! And Faye had missioned through for a sleepover so it was reunionreunion! Cuddles, giggles, excited chatter… and a glass of red!

Lix made a superlative Chicken a la King with rice and deep fried chicken skin bits (GENIUS!). I had brought a bottle of Jagermeister. Barry had sorted bottles of red. There were cameras clicking and flashing and the usual random assortment of (mostly non-PC) conversation topics, catch-ups on who’s been doing what (no movement left unturned, no matter how seemingly small or insignificant just in case it had bearing somewheresomehow, who’s seen who and what they’ve been up to and much general merriment! :o)

One by one, people filtered to bed. Except me and faye – seasoned experience at slumber-party giggling and serendipitously surrendering to adjoining couches.

WEDNESDAY

Woke up at some ridiculous hour (like 4 maybe?) with a dire need for a kilolitre of water. En route to the water bottle in the back of the fridge I stumbled across leftover roast pork, so I felt obliged to make sandwiches (god bless Kingsmill bread- still the best ever) for me and Faye. I think I may have saved 2 young lives (and by that I mean mine and Faye’s).

In no time at all, the house was awake and in relay doing tea, toast, showering, the odd bit of ironing etc etc. Saw everyone off: Barry headed for the tubes, Lix and Faye cycle to work. Yes, really.

Me and RoRoRo (did I mention that I gave him a gratuitous Ro from a middle name I’ve never wanted and could never escape?) did something that very few Londoners have ever done – we traversed the city.

From south west to north east to get Faye a clean set of clothes. Totally my fault <ie: took me minutes to convince her to stay and L&R the rest of the week based on first night’s dinner and promise of confirmed menu for night 2 and 3, on the proviso that I/we would trek the length of London to get enough mix-and-match workwear to make said slumber party practical). ended up being a 3 hour round trip, with a 5 minute packing at Faye’s house respite in between… oh ja, and Burger King at Liverpool Station (dbl cheese and bacon whoppers, chips and coke each, 7 chicken nuggets and 4 chilli bites to share).

Got back in time to watch Lix make dinner. Lordylordylordy. Roast salt marsh lamb, mash taters, cauli cheese, carrots, roasted shallots, garlic and brown onion gravy. G-sus. More chats around the table and then retired to Couchville for sitcom marathon. Nice.

THURSDAY

Finally the stupid body clock works for me. Sat at the table while everyone missioned around me doing the usual ironing, breakfast, head-holding, work-hating, why-can’t-we-be-rich-and-retire-now-ing etc… and then napped on the couch snuggled in purple fleece blankie and sleeping bag for an hour… to be up and fresh and head onto high street to find elusive ‘cheaper’ dry cleaner for B’s dry-cleanables, then grocery shop (too many undiscovered canned pleasures to mention), hit Subway (ham, salami, pepperoni, cheese, lettuce, tomato, jalapeno, sweet onion sauce and ranch sauce on cheese and herb italian bread) and BACK TO THE COUCH *bliss*

The kids came home and we feasted on Welsh black beef sirloin steaks, baked taters with butter and cheese, ciabatta and caramelised red onion… and then off to Bonfire Night (which I think is a sad sell-out to the infinitely more marketably-cos-more-opportunity-for-lewd-jokes Guy Fawkes) for very lovely fireworks. stopped at Threshers en route of course and almost missed everything for 4 Fosters, 4 Carlings and some Bulmers cider. nonetheless, we’re blessed folk and got there in time for a manageable amount of chinese-badly-marketed (ask Alex for details) pyrotechnics. enough for me finally to get (bad) photos of us with fireworky things (that largely look like dysfunctional hats!).

We got home, finished the Jager, had midnight snacks, chatted and laughed, laughed and chatted, commented inappropriately on FB stuff, sent the odd (both sense of the word) SMS to home… and photos of course.

Taking an ad break. Stay tuned for the next adventure in Preston.

Travelogue St Louis 2: London – St Louis

April 2008

Sooo…. it’s been quite a week in St Louis since Travelogue I. They’ve actually had me <gasp> working. Gggrrr. To make matters worse, there was a dark patch from bedtime on Tuesday (later than I care to remember, but late enough that I’m constantly getting thooose impression-inspired reminders!) to lunchtime on Thursday where there was no computer time at all. I KNOW!!! Can’t remember the last time I was offline for that long!!

Now, where were we? … Mmmm…. at Faye’s lounging and slothing.

Post watching bubblegum horror film, having a superlative daytime nap (which NEVER happens) and much-needed showers all round, we headed off for Lix and RoRo’s place. Plan A (some schmancy restauranty thing) had been fraught with too many possible temptations for our resident Athlete – who we all know would have been led down the evil path by us, being Satan’s children wildly and freely wherever we can as we do <throaty> hahaha – so we cast aside all idea of going out into public and headed for Plan B – the ‘burbs. What a marvy idea!

Lix outdid herself with ridiculously juicy and tender chicken Schnitzels, with the most scrumptious mushroomy garlicky white winey sauce. Which we made her make twice ‘cos it’s one of those things where you just. Can’t. Get. Enough!! Gggrrr (in a nice way). Complemented with a great vintage… erm… beer…. erm… or 7.

A great afternoon led to a great evening and into the inevitable grrreat night :o) lots of crap-speak, bonding, larfs and good times. Yay us! Got to bed way later than expected, after the usual bouncing around the lounge, with the added spice of Alex The Helicopter and a fun chapter called Clarks and Lix Fall Into The Telly. <blazing blushing stuff>

Thought I was going to die when I woke up on Sunday morning. Real early. Keeping real still so as not to turn queasy to dry heave (and / or worse). Didn’t help. After fighting for hours I had to leopard crawl to Lix to seek direction on The Strongest Drugs Known To Man Which Clearly Are The Only Thing That Could Save Me Now.

Dunno what them little effervecenty things are, but man oh man – The Bomb. The world stopped spinning, thoughts of solid food (in the distant future of course) didn’t cause shudders and shiverless thoughts of day, outside and bright gave me hope that we might actually make it to the marathon that we’d travelled 11,000kms to see. Happy happy days.

Am so pleased too ‘cos the race vibe was rocking (or maybe that was just me, being noticeably shakier than ever before) and Faye was considerately on time-ish so there wasn’t too much arsing about with all them family and athleticky types. Dry heave returned briefly when a runner in a Borat cozzie passed us. Gave me a new mental image for next time I hear “Jump Around” hahaha.

Sadly, had to hit the road straight after seeing Faye in an effort to automobile, train and plane to the States. Burger King saved my life. had a Number 1 with cheese and bacon, which was a trifle dry. Mental note to self, First World countries don’t give you any condiments unprompted. Suck suck suckedy. <how ungrateful am I>

Got to the airport on time. And was first in the airline queue, which I have never ever had before… would be the one time I didn’t need it! My colleagues (bless ’em) had checked in my suitcase so I sailed through and had time to chill with an ice cold coke.

American Airlines food is superlative. Had a chickeny cheesy pasta-y thingy. And a pizza later for a snack. Actually, if that’s what they serve you gotta wonder about what Italia serve. Mmmmm.

Got in about midnight. Great time to check in ‘cos there are no queues. I also had no strength and no power of speech and the receptionist clearly no training and no logic. So, all in all, it was a worker of a moment, missing only someone to capture it in a moooooovie to make America’s Crankiest Home Videos.

Alrighty, so now that we’ve put the ho into hotel, it’s a good time to take a repose and keep you hanging for the next gripping installment. That and I have to leave for the airport now (or you’re going to continue to get Travelogues cos i’ll never get home!!)

Toodles xxx