The Art of Being a Passenger

Winnats Pass

With Aimes back in sunny Oz sorting a new visa, I had contemplated sitting around the house feeling sorry for myself for two weeks, that was until the possibility of a couple of trips to the NORTH (as the motorway signs like to refer to it) proved sufficiently pursuasive to get me off the lounge and into the back seat of a car. As being carless, I was reliant on the generousity of my middle class conservative firends (ie. Ains and Roh) for a lift, which fortunately they were kind enough to offer. The first trip, in deference to the Bank Holiday, was to the Peak (not Peaks) District in Derbyshire, selected due to its approximate equidistance between London and Beverley, home of the recently returned Kate and Andy.

The Pennine Way

As always, the best part about driving (or even passengering) on a British Motorway are the services (ie. truck stops) which are an opportunity to interact with people from a broad cross section of society, perhaps evidenced by the ubiquotous pokie rooms which are always passed first on entering.

The pub

Being a bank holiday it was inevitable that it would be rainy and cold, however I was a little dissappointed with the seriousness that the weather-gods were taking it, as daytime temperatures droppped to single figures and it seemed there wasn't more than one hours respite from the constant drizzle for the whole 3 days. The down jacket, which had been put away for the summer, even got a run. Still this once again provided an oppotunity for the British people, and in particular their ramblers, to prove their resiliance, as the countryside of the Peak was alive with walkers paying scant regard to the inclement conditions. I guess you would never leave the house if you were soft like us, but I was more than happy to spend the majority of the weekend in a pub with an ale in one hand and a massive chip butty in the other.

Rohie enjoying the Bank Holiday weather

Fortunately, this is how the weekend began for me, as arriving at the Royal Oak, our accomodation for the weekend at about 11:45, we only had to wait 15 minutes before opening time and the first ales of the day. With Kate and Andy arriving soon after and a fair bit of catching up to be done, it wasn't surprising that this was the first of a few, and that it was a bit of a struggle to get us out of there for a walk... we did manage to drag ourselves along the Penine Way, a disused rail line for a couple of hours, although you wouldn't call it particularly strenuous... Afterwards we reaquainted ourselves with the bar, feeling the need to sample a few more of the regions ales (and on my part indulging in my new found love of offal related meals).

The weather

The queue

The "cave"

Next morning the weather hadn't changed, considering this we decided that the anticipated walking was off the agenda and instead decided to check out a few of the areas caves. After a breakfast consisting of the cholesterol charged traditional full-english in Haver???, we decided to give Speedwell Cavern a shot, however before this we had to engage with the British love of the queue, standing in the elements for a good couple of hours before decending into the "cave".

Sampling some more of the north's finest at the Fox Hole

"Cave" as it would probably be better described as what it was - a mine shaft, which although accessed via a boat, didn't exactly live up to the expectations we had been developing over the previous couple of hours standing in the rain. At least it was dry, slightly warmer than outside and out of the wind. Perhaps the most dissappointing part of the experience was that we didn't have time to see another of the caves named the Devils Arse, with its obvious appeal...

Darting up at the Royal Oak

After the excitement of the cave we took a bit an extended drive around the more rugged northern part of the Peak, with its impressive moors and the ever present hardy souls walking amongst them. As you do, we found the time for a couple more stops at remote pubs to make sure their fare was up to standard and dined at Andy's favourite the Fox Hole (which reportedly had been recently done up, although I suspect he is a closet gastro-pub lover). As always the highlight of a country pub being the fact that people are often outnumbered by dogs! back to the Royal Oak for a few more pints and a couple of games of darts, did i meantion i'm trying to assimilate?

Monday wasn't much flasher than the previous two days, we breakfasted in Bakewell (home of the Bakewell Tart, not Tarts) wandered around the market, tempted frostbite before deciding to get on the road back to London.

Beers on the River Ouse

After barely having had time to reaquint myself with the delights of the tube, crowds and pollution, another weekend rolled round and it was time to hit The North for the second time in a week. This time we were headed to Beverley in Yorkshire, home of Kate and Andy. So it was back on to the M1, again stretching the friendship of Ains and Roh as I reaquainted myself with their backseat. Feeling a distinct sense of dejavu, we decided to live on the edge and not breakfast at the same services two saturdays in a row, and instead stuck it out for a whole extra 10 miles...

More beers on the Ouse

After not too long we arrived in Beverley, where we found a very busy Saturday Market, in a beautiful town, with a main street crowded with Bakers but somewhat devoid of Wine Shops. We headed around to Kate and Andy's for a bit before heading into York to make the most of the unsurprisingly sunny afternoon (being the weekend after a Bank Holiday and all). Being with locals we did waht locals do, got about drinking a few beers at the many pubs along the River Ouse. In between pints we managed to check out a few of the sights including the Minster, Clifford's Tower, and the Shambles.

The frequently flooded Kings Arms

Next day after seeing the Humber Bridge (we were all engineers), it was Kate and Andy's welcome home/reception for people who couldn't make it to Australia function in a manor near their place. The highlight of the very impressive meal being the first decent Yorkshire pudding I've had over here...

Kate and Andy's reception

So two weekends in a row of travelling up the M1 to the NORTH, and I was getting pretty used to being a passenger and for the first time in a while was starting to regret not having wheels of our own...

Big Flaming Ball of Fire

Us, a little paler after 12 months in London

There has recently been a strange phenonenon over the skies of london, big yellow fireball has been sighted, which is reminicent of what we used to call the sun back in the warmer climes that we used to call home... this phenomenon has been related to the rise in temperatures with daily maximums getting within a degree or two of the nightly minimums of Moree. These occurrances led to us to hope that just maybe, summer had arrived...

Hampstead Heath - the first opportunity to feel the green grass between the toes

Aimes and Kate

Unsurprisingly it wasn't long before our folly became apparent and after naively thinking that we had managed to outlast the worst of what (admittedly a very mild) London winter had to throw at us, and having put our coats in for drycleaning, this week reminded us just how wrong we were. No more outrageously warm, get your shirt off in the park, 20 degree days, replaced instead by the usual cold, grey drizzle...

Slides at the Tate Modern

The Tate Modern Turbine Hall

Though it's not all bad news, the sun is still up at 9pm, the trees are green again and there has been a few great days over past few weeks. We have also just passed the 12 month mark of our stay in London, which despite setting new records for paleness, doesn't appear to have done us too much harm...

Our new digs

Beers in Greenwich

Anyways, it's been a while since London updates and what's been happening in this part of the world i hear you all ask... well despite the few trips we've been on recently (as documented previously) we have quite effectively established ourselves as home bodies. It seems Fulham has the same effect as Bondi or Manly, with the effort to get places being too much to overcome many weekends.

The Greenwich Foot Tunnel

Brompton Cemetary - One of the Magnificent Seven

Our loungeroom becomes the Cricket World Cup drop in centre

The weather has been pretty good though, so there have been a couple of picnics (that's right poor-man's beach) Much to Hobbes' joy the warm weather has also led to a return of pavement beers (that is, standing on the road in front of the pub) and the Cricket World Cup and Anzac day have provided ample opportunity us to indulge in Australian nationalism, as you can really lose touch with Australian culture living in Fulham :)

Outside Buckingham Palace, 6am 25.04.07

Also in other news the British Government has seen fit to provide Hobbes with a work permit until 2012 under the illusion that he will provide some benefit to the country... now we only have one more hurdle to overcome before the visa odessey is complete - convincing the Home Office that our 10 year relationship is legit... keeps life interesting...

One from less warm times - the first outside beer of the year

One final summer/spring weather comment - what's the go with the constant rain of pollen you get here this time of year, you seriously can't take a breathe outside without getting a mouth full and the gutters are piled high with it. Too many plane trees I recon, where's Wilson Tuckey when you need him?

Chinese New Year hang over

Franco-Belgian Weekender

As always it has taken longer than it should have to get around to putting down some words, however here are a few photos from Hobbes' trip to France and Belgium a couple of weeks ago...

The trip, principally to attend an ANZAC ceremony at the Australian Somme Memorial, had been tossed around amongst some of the Arup Australian contingent for a while, however it was looking to be all to difficult until an eager car and driver were found on Thursday afternoon... so at the proverbial one minute to midnight it was on, four boys, one car and few plans (considering the Munich Debacle, it was little wonder that Aimes was concerned...)

Sunset over Dover

Graves in the Australian War Memorial at Villers Bretonneux

After work on Friday, the usual tube troubles meant a late arrival at the pick up spot outside the M25, and despite the best efforts of our chauffer (Chris) and running on vapours for a good half an hour, we missed the ferry to Calais and had to wait until 11:45pm for the next one... even though this did give us an opportunity to experience the beauty of Dover's truck car park, with it's interesting truck driving inhabitants (or should that be wagon divers in the local vernacular), I don't think any of us were particularly pleased, if only because of the lack of dinner options at the only shop - WH Smith.

The Franco Australian Memorial

Lost somewhere in Boulogne

However, we eventually made it to France, after a couple of duty free beers on the boat, and were expecting a short drive down to Boulogne where we had booked a hotel. Unfortunately attempting to find the hotel without a map wasn't as easy as you might expect, and it took much driving around, calls to Australia for directions and scaring of the only person we managed to find (a cyclist who obviously didn't want to give us directions) before we managed to find the hotel - right next to the highway exit we had initially taken.... Time check - 4am!!

Breakfast somewhere on the northern French coast...

As a result of our shenanigans the previous night, we didn't rise early enough to make it to the ceremony at the Franco-Australian Memorial at Villers Bretonneux, however we checked out with a few other late arrivals. Even having missed the ceremony it was a pretty moving experience, especially seeing the number of unnamed graves and number of names, even though they represented only those Australians killed in the Somme campaign... From here we visited another Australian memorial at the nearby village of Le Hamel (of General Monash fame), which being located a top a hill gave a good overview of the futility of the western front campaign and the little progress made over years of wasted effort and loss of lives.

Le Hamel

After this we headed for the Albert where we sampled the produce from the local patisserie while enjoying the sounds of the local Chavs on their scooters (sports exhausts and all). After lunch we continued our drive around the Somme, taking in the British and Northern Irish Memorials. The British Memorial at Theipval, was a little uninspiring at first, that was until you get close enough to realise that the 16 massive columns are covered on each side with thousands and thousands of names – again, very sobering…

The Anglo-French war memorial in Theipval

The unknown soldier at the Australian Memorial in Villiers Betrenoux

Anyways, after spending the best part of the day driving around the narrow lanes and villages of northern France, and having had a taste of Belgian beer (out of the boot of the car on the side of the road), we decided we needed a change and headed straight for Brussels. A pretty swift run down the motorway, partaking in the European love of ignoring speed limits (or are they suggestions?) and we were in a hotel and ready to quench that hard earned thirst!

Arcade in Brussels

Out for beers in Brussells

Dinner was unsurprisingly mussels and frits followed by many beers of different colour, taste and quality… It definitely made for a nice change to be drinking good quality beer in quantities and surrounds that allowed you to enjoy it rather than attempting to down yet another pint (or mass). Sure I will be back there in the not too distant future!

View of Brugge from the Bell Tower

After breakfasting on croissants (not quite the greasy fry up that was called for), it was on to Brugge (after we managed to find our way out of Brussels, yet again sans map that is). Brugge is supposedly a bit over-touristed, however it is like that for a reason as it is also very beautiful, and an enjoyable afternoon was had there. Yet again we had fantastic weather, in fact it was reportedly better than the UK which apparently is somewhat rare for Belgium, so most of the afternoon was spent sitting enjoying this rare phenomenon. We decided against the canal boat trip, as the canals were a little congested with boatloads of geriatrics, though will have to do one some day (having also dodged it in Amsterdam). Though we did earn our lunch burgers with a climb to the top of the 350m tall bell tower where access considerations were obviously not high on the design agenda and most of the climb was spent waiting for people to pass….

Chris, Phil and Mark in Brugge

Mussels and beers

From Brugge we took the coast road back to Calais via Oostende, which we were later to find out is Belgium’s premier beach resort. Near the top of the list of things I didn’t expect to be doing in Belgium was swimming at the beach, however after having driven past several glimpses of white sand between the obligatory beachside high rise, we soon found ourselves stripping off for a dip in the English Channel. That the brown algae filled water and freezing temperatures didn’t deter us says something of the ocean swimming depravation we have endured, and perhaps it was just the presence of too much testosterone, either way we were in… and then very quickly back out – tick swimming at a Belgian beach off the to do list!

Downtown Brussels

Though that isn’t to say that the beach wasn’t nice, in fact it was long and well endowed with normal sand, and in the afternoon sun was definitely a sight for sore eyes.

After our unscheduled stop it was back on the motorway for the final leg to Calais, where we had time to grab some traditional French cuisine (a kebab) before boarding the ferry (on time for a change). On the trip back we part-took in the British past-time of loading up on booze and tobacco on trips to the continent, loading up the car with a good few cases of wine

Oostende

At about this point swimming should have seemed a bad idea...

An hour or so later and we caught a glimpse of the White Cliffs of Dover in the fading light of the early evening and from there it wasn’t much of a drive back London. The usual train chaos at this point assured us that we weren’t far from home and despite an unscheduled lay-over in Epsom, managed to be back in Fulham before midnight – good times…

Sunset over Dover's white cliffs

Hen De Cymru - Old South Wales

The goods

Easter means camping, so after a couple of years hiatus from the ritual we headed off to South Wales with tent and sleeping bags in tow. The only slight problem being our current carlessness required a 6am tube ride out to Heathrow lugging our (and a fair bit of Gerg's) camping gear, still at least we didn't have to battle London roads out to the M4...

Carreg Cennen Castle

Tenby Harbour

Anyways, before long we were on our way, headed for the Gower Peninsula. A brief stop in the traditional British seaside resort of Mumbles for lunch (how can you go past fish and chips), and then on to the beach. Despite being named the most beautiful beach in the UK by The Travel Magazine we were not particularly inspired by Oxwich Bay, perhaps it was the wind or the hundreds of metres of mudflats, but it just wasn't what we would call a beach... Not to say the surrounds aren't beautiful, with your standard narrow hedge lined laneways, castles scattered around the coutryside and lush green sheep covered hills.

Never let a military firing range prevent you from getting that photo!

Though we weren't able to stick around for long as we still had some distance to travel to our campground near Tenby on the southern Pembrokeshire coast. Ariving late in the afternoon, the owner was shocked that we had covered the whole 400km from London in the day! Anyways, after erecting the tent we headed into nearby Tenby, which is a cute little town with a small harbour, colourful houses and at this time of year no parking.We spent the remaining daylight hours wandering around the steep streets, enjoying what was fortunately much less of a tourist trap than we had been expecting. In a further attempt to assimilate into British culture we decided on Indian for dinner, as nothing says seaside resort like a curry!

Can I buy a vowel?

Aimes enjoying the sunshine on St David's head

Next day, after the obligatory fry-up breakfast roll (black pudding and all), we headed north to St David's, the UK's smallest city (possibly the world's?) and also reportedly home to a burgeoning surf scene. On arriving we found a beautifully quaint town, with an impressive Cathedral, but no Bondi. Though, that is not to say we didn't enjoy exploring the by now standard convuluted winding lanes, in fact it quite probably was our favourite village that we visited.

The beaches are actually some distance from town, liking the sound of Whitesands (and remembering the following quote from the BBC "a tourist expert who devised a mathematical formula to calculate the best beaches in the world ranked Whitesands in Pembrokeshire in his top 20.") we headed out with hopes high. However, despite the unusually clear skies, there was to be no swimming, or even poking of toes in the water, as the wind was howling and rocky slope to the water didn't look all that inviting... in our opinion, if you have to build a shelter to protect yourself from the wind, you really should consider whether it is the right time to be at the beach. Although perhaps this just typifies our softness and we do have respect for the hardy souls who were taking on the ripples despite the less than perfect conditions... we reflected on this as we sat shivering in our down jackets... Our aversion to cold weather bathing probably gives the impression that we didn't like what we saw, which is wrong, as despite not being in our top 20 (perhaps that mathematical formula needs revising) the beach was somewhat Byron like wedged in a small cove between craggy cliffs.

Harbour by night

Hobbes with Pen-Y-Fan in the distance

Not being inclined to take a dip we instead decided to take a walk (or should that be ramble) around the adjacent headland, at the end of which the wind abated and we were able to enjoy the unseasonal sunshine and perfectly clear skies. We even spotted some dolphins in the waters below further supporting our Byron comparisons (it wasn't just homesickness!). Unfortunately for Aimes, the sight of a couple of hundred metres tall hill not far from the headland demanded an ascent, which slightly delayed our wind blown organic icecream...

It is remiss of us to neglect mentioning that on the way to St David's we were lured into a detour from the A477 by the sight of Carew Castle, highlighting the benefit of having your own wheels! Unfortunately the neighbouring tidal mill was closed, resulting in a missed opportunity for Hobbes to attempt to bore people with useless hydraulic anecdotes...

Strumble Head on the North Pembrokeshire Coast

A steep ascent of Cribyn

On the way back to Tenby we stopped a little pub (as you do after a ramble) we had passed on the way out. Located at the end of a small inlet filled with boats (now wallowing in the mud with the tide having receeded), it was not the setting but the sponsoring by Brains that really attracted us. Now, as the only real way to experience a culture is to sample it's beer, it was with a great deal of expectation that we ordered a glass of Brains. Knowing nothing more than that it has a cool name and sponsors the Welsh Rugby team, Hobbes was expecting a lot. We are happy to report that it exceeded expectations and is something like a better version of Kilkenny (and as mentioned having a better name). This revealed the downside to having your own wheels - only one pint could be consumed before continuing back to Tenby. Actually, the importance of limiting it to one pint was highlighted by the surely inebriated fool who clipped our mirror while we were waiting to turn into the pub carpark...

St Govans Chapel

Ministry of Silly Hats

Sunday gave us an unexpected trifecta of sunny days, which we began with a drive out to see St Govans Chapel (being Easter Sunday and all) a tiny 800 year old building located at the base of a coastal chasm (apparently a perfect location for a naval firing range). From here it was up to Fishguard and a stretch of Pemborkeshire coastline that was reportedly amongst the most spectacular about. This gave us the opportunity to do a bit more walking and work on our sunburn/wind burn (yes our pasty-white complexions are comming along nicely).

Morris Minors

Carew Castle

The slowly lengthening days gave us the opportunity to make a dash for one more activity for the day, a visit to the Carreg Cennen Castle on route to Brecon. On route we stopped at a pub in Newport (which happens to be the birthplace of Hobbes' great, great, great, great grandfather), although not for the first time having missed the 2pm lunch it was cheese sandwiches and ale (rather than the hoped for pie). Carreg Cennen Castle lived up to its billing of the most impressively sited castle in Wales, perched a top a cliff top bringing back memories of Mehrangarh Fort in Jodhpur (just replace the sprawling metropolis teeming with people with peaceful green fields and a scattering of sheep).

Strumble Head Lighthouse on St Michael's Island

Coastal scenery near St David's

Arriving at the packed campground in Brecon we set up the tent on our assigned 3 x 5 plot of grass before retiring for a beer and dinner at the fortuitously located Barn restaurant. Thinking we would need to book ahead to secure a table on Easter Sunday we made our booking without considering the location relative to where we would be staying, only to find that we had a full 200m walk to endure. The only downside was the lack of Brains on the beer menu, still this was made up for by the long awaited seafood and welsh lamb meal that we were still craving from the night before, with the added benefit that no driving meant more beers :)

Rent a windbreak for a quid at Whitesands Beach

St David's Cathedral

Monday morning in Brecon was a very quiet affair, but we eventually fpound somewhere to eat before heading out to the heart of the Brecon Beacons where we were to make an assault on Pen-Y-Fan (aka the tallest mountain south of Snowdonia). Arriving at a rocky section of the lane and recalling the guilt trip performed by the woman at the Europcar counter for us not taking the £30 option to lower our excess, we decided that there wasn't going to be any not-my car action. Getting a wheel off the ground while attempting an Austin Powers-esque 39 point turn, assured us that we had made the right decision, and we commenced our walk. As we walked up the rocky path we reminisced about how Penny Pulsar would have handled the terrain with ease and that they don't make 2wd hatches like they did back in 1990...

Tenby Harbour by night

Celtic Cross in Carew

Anyways, it wasn't long before we realised we had taken the wrong lane and that we were walking up the wrong ridge, although it wasn't until we arrived at the top that we worked out where we had supposed to be going. Fortunately the landscape was sufficiently paddock-like to allow us to break our own trail and actually gave us a better view of our originally proposed peak, than the actual track would have. After a heavy slog through the steep field, we arrived at the base of some very steep territory which was basically steps up a sharp ridge, in many ways reminiscent of the Sentinel in the Koz. Despite some bemused looks from those already at the top, we got up in about 20 minutes after half a dozen rest breaks to find flat slopes approaching the peak up the southern face. Standing a top what we later found to be named the Cribyn we looked at those already at the top with a sense of superiority after having reached this point via the treacherous southern face (it was either this or feel stoopid for getting lost).

Aimes takes a rest with Cribyn and Pen-Y-Fan in the distance

As we confirmed we had just walked up the wrong mountain, with Pen-Y-Fan proudly standing a full 50m taller some few hundred metres to the west, the altitude was obviously affecting us, and we decided to have a shot at our original target. After some knee jarring on the way down and back up the other side of the saddle, we had ascended both mountains without too much trouble considering our recent dire lack of practice. Like the Koz on an Easter Monday it was pretty crowded on top, with the British phenomenon of people going hiking with three generations of family and their dogs in tow being well represented.

Mumbles Pier

Coastguard

Not long after finishing off our lunch on top of Pen-Y-Fan, the sunny weather which we had experienced for the past 3 and a half days decided it had stuck around for long enough and the clouds rolled in. This prompted a quick retreat, requiring us to traverse a narrow path cut into the side of the mountain. Bringing back further memories of the Sentinel, some grip concerns were raised however were quickly erased on remembering that we were now all equipped with Contragrip. As a result neither of us had too many troubles and but for some minor knee soreness from the extended rapid decent we were back in the car without too many problems.

The drive back was surprisingly painless and Hobbes managed to keep his stress levels at a low simmer most of the way back to London...