Yes yes, I know. I've been slack. In fact, it almost defeats the purpose of writing a blog if I didn't update it. Probably most of you won't be bothered checking it any more. If you are one of these people, you won't be reading this though...
Anyway, so I left you at France, yes? Well, the holiday didn't finish right then and there - far from it. We still had around 3 weeks to spend in England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales.
We stopped by at Nicola's Uncle and Aunts for a little while, with the multi-functional causes of saying 'hello', bolting our car back together and being able to sleep in a bed for once. It worked out beautifully, and we (as usual) left there much happier, cleaner and more motivated than when we arrived.
The first port of call from there was to head up to York, in Northern England. We had some friends to visit up North, which we did the first evening, before moving up towards Scotland.
We had made a joint decision while dry, warm and comfortable at Nicola's Aunt and Uncle's house that we would conquer the three highest peaks in England, Scotland and Wales during our three weeks. Making this promise brought about immediate consequences, namely having to step up to climb Scafell Pike in the beautiful Lake District (England's highest 'mountain' at 978m) on our third day of travel.
This in itself wasn't necessarily hard, especially given the fact that we'd climbed up many higher and longer mountains in Norway (let alone the ones in Italy). However what we didn't account for was the weather. I'll just throw some words at you here. Cold. Wet. Miserable. Low visibility. Bleak.
Upon descending the scree-scattered 'path', I realised that it was not going to be as easy as planned to sort out these three peaks. The only thing that outweighed the level of tiredness in my legs was the overwhelming stench of my shoes, which had become so wet as to attract prospectors searching for peat bogs.
After recovering our senses the next morning, we managed to begin our drive up north to Edinburgh, Scotland. I found this to be a really beautiful city, and a wonderful delivery of the Scottish personality. It was cold, it was grey, but it had a real sense of humour.
The signage and shop keepers were all presented with a tinge of 'taking the piss', and as an Australian I felt really welcomed by all we met. The architecture was gorgeous, and we thoroughly enjoyed our trip to the Edinburgh Castle.
The only downside? We somehow managed to attract the attention of a couple of Australians at the campsite, who made it their singular purpose of talking to us for HOURS. They were not the type of people we'd naturally choose to spend a lot of time with anyway, but it appeared that there was no escape, even when we deliberately shut ourselves into the laundry room only to find that it was THEIR washing which had been put into the dryer, and that they would shortly come into check said washing, only to discover another opportunity to chew our ears.
After extricating ourselves from the siege of inane babble, we managed to move further North to the area around Dundee. Driving through Scotland is very generous on the eye - roads wind around beautiful ruined castles, through fields of bracken and past low hills dropping off into the sea. Yes, it isn't the verdant green almost eye-injuringly beautiful 'Switzerland', but it certainly has a harsher, more 'grungy' appeal.
I wonder at the ability of animals and plants to deal with the climate here - it was September and it was bloody cold. Frosts were beginning to move in rather quickly, and although it was around 14 degrees during the day, we were under no illusions as to the extent of the cold during the winter months.
Dundee stands in my mind as the place where we couldn't really find a campsite. We had one on a driving map of the area which turned out to be closed for the 'winter months'. The other ones we looked at were either closed or looked a bit 'dodgy'. One of these was an open field with some camper vans in it. Right next to it was what looked like a band of gypsies perched next to a torched car.
As we drove around aimlessly, I strongly considered going to a bottle shop to buy some scotch to give to said gypsies for a prime 'burning car side' location, but Nicola would have none of it. We did eventually find a spot to camp, and slept soundly (although I did dream of gypsies torching our car).
Next on our itinerary was to do some 'family roots investigating' for Nicola in a town called New Byth, followed by a stay-over in Aberdeen, which was another beautiful Scottish city.
But the real highlight for me was our drive past Loch Ness to the Isle of Skye. Skye is a beautifully remote and picturesque little island, with tiny farms dotted throughout, stunning countryside and waterfalls dropping off cliffs. This was a slice of Scottish rural heaven, and we only left so as to head towards Ben Nevis (Scotland's highest mountain).
I found the Ben Nevis climb substantially easier than the previous one, even though it was a full couple of hundred metres higher. It was also substantially colder and wetter. By then my shoes were a lost cause anyway, so I suppose I had a bit of a 'nothing to lose' outlook.
We got the ferry across to Northern Ireland to spend our final week and a half driving around Ireland and climbing Mt. Snowdon (the last of the 3 peaks). Lodging in Belfast was a questionable decision - we are brave travellers, but even the bravest and most optimistic may struggle to find any glimmer of hope in that city.
We moved on ahead of schedule to try to get close to Dublin for the evening (a long drive, but we weren't about to stay in Belfast any longer). We got as far as Drogheda (just north of Dublin), but in truth were lucky to make it that far as I nearly exploded with needing to pee on the journey down. Saying 'we'll just stop at the next servo' is fine, as long as there are servos within 60km of you (there weren't) and as long as the one you get to in 65km has a toilet (it didn't).
So after peeing behind a shipping crate and almost hitting a cat, I was right to go again - back on track. Drogheda was a really fun place for us to stop - we stayed in the best hostel ever. It was run by an Australian guy and his Latvian wife, and had a restaurant and plenty of beers downstairs. We possibly over-indulged on Guinness, and as such my attempts to stay up to watch the Grand Final only worked til half time (i.e. 7:30am Ireland time), at which point I duly passed out with exhaustion.
From here, we decided to leave Dublin until last of all, and to instead go to picturesque fishing town Galway, with its colourful village and proximity to the Cliffs of Moher, stunning sea cliffs which plunge into the freezing stone blue waters below.
Killarney was next - a centre for many outdoors activities in Ireland, including the Killarney National Park, drives around the Ring of Kerry and more sea cliffs. It was a simply stunning area, and we wish we'd had time to wander around the park itself.
From Killarney, we booted the car down to Cork and Kilkenny (just quick sightseeing stopovers), before making our way back up to Dublin. Dublin was another great city - the Guinness Factory provided not only a great insight into the brewing process, but also the heritage of the city itself, which was a surprise for me. We took a look at Trinity College, and generally took time to wander around and take in the sights of a city which is so rich in architectural, cultural and 'human-power' heritage.
Boarding the ferry next morning to head over to Wales, we had one final aim - to climb Mt. Snowdon in Northern Wales. This was not the case solely for our desire to complete the 'three peaks', but also for the added purpose of expediting the process of me wearing my shoes for the final time. By this stage, the stench which had accumulated acted as an olfactory sledgehammer each time we entered the car. Let's just say that the 'new car smell' pine tree hanging from the back seat roof handle didn't stand a chance.
Snowdon was (apart from the gale force winds) the easiest of all three peaks, and even watching a passenger train full of smiling pensioners slowly ascend its summit beside us didn't dampen my outlook as we quickly made our way up.
After a final night in Birmingham (a surprisingly bustling and enormous city) and another trip to Windsor Castle, we dragged our tired, wet and smelly car full of camping gear home to Southampton. The unpacking process was fun, as it gave us access to things we'd not seen for some months and had all but given up hope of seeing again.
This was the end of an (albeit very small) era - a holiday in my life I've not encountered the likes of before. The trip was so incredibly much fun that it has seemed an injustice to feel disappointed about not still being on it.
I am planning on doing a 'sum up' blog from the trip, but based on how long it's taken me to write this, Christmas may well be a more immediate situation for us all.
Key activities on the trip…
- Climbing the 'three bleak peaks in three bleak weeks' as I've since named it
- Enjoying the beautifully scenic driving and clean fresh air of Scotland and Ireland
- Visiting areas where Nicola's Grandmother grew up in Scotland
- Driving around the Ring of Kerry and Cliffs of Moher in Ireland
- Taking a tour of the Guinness Factory in Dublin
- Avoiding being shot in Belfast
Highlights
- Visiting some of the great UK cities; Edinburgh, Dublin, Aberdeen - all architecturally and culturally significant in their own way
- We got the car through another thousand or so miles, and have given it a good clean and a well deserved rest before eBay decides its fate
- Edinburgh was an enchanting city - you could just feel the atmosphere and defiance of the people
- The Guinness I had in the Guinness brewery was awesome. I'm the kind of person that has traditionally considered Guinness to be a type of meat, but my outlook has been shifted.
Lowlights
- My shoes don't normally smell, but by god did the tables turn quickly. Upon reflection I should have just thrown them out, but they were/are still good. I may have lost some part of my smell/taste relationship due to bottling ourselves up in the car with said shoes, but I still think it's worth it.
- Blowing a tyre on some remote Irish road and not finding the locking wheel nut until after the RAC had been called.
The people:
They are quite similar, yet very different, so it is only fitting to do a quick run down on all three...
The Scottish:
I think the merriment I extract from watching Scottish people speak has been covered sufficiently in this blog previously. I nearly lost my shit when sitting in the living room of an old couple who lived in Nicola's Grandmother's old house and watched him try to talk to us. There were entire sentences where I did not understand one word - it was awkward to nod knowing full well the nod was not a suitable response to what he'd just said. His wife was marginally better, but it made for some embarrassed silences all round.
But scratch the (personally hilarious) surface of a Scot, and you'll find people with the most genuinely funny sense of humour you'll ever find. They are just born funny - they don't even need to try. It certainly explains Billy Connolly and countless others. They are quick with a smile and make you feel very very welcome.
They are fiercely proud of their heritage (both with and without Britain), and seem experienced at being able to reel off all victories they have had over the English in the past.
The Irish:
A little less predictable than their Scottish neighbours, the Irish are more of a mixed bag. I'm sure the 20th Century hasn't been a particularly happy time for this split country, although recent years have seen more unity and promise than once seemed possible. As a result, there are still the 'street fighters'; those who gave all for what now seems a completely senseless waste of life and energy - a religious war in which the only winners are those who pulled the strings politically.
Belfast is another example for me of how post-oppression or post-war development may never ever re-establish harmony or stability. Belfast is a city which has been so rent of all its soul through war and aggressive shows of pride that it is a shell of what it must once have been - a cold stark reminder that behind the 'happy go lucky leprechaun' image of the Irish that we get back home, there is a troubled past which is still yet to be fully recovered from.
But there is of course heart here too - the Irish are as welcoming and warm as their neighbours, with their reputed good nature beaming through. Especially in the South, where Ireland has become part of the EU, people are accommodating and keen to show tourists like us around.
Oh yeah, and they like drinking. A lot. It's no lie that the Irish love a good drink and a good fight, so it was nice to finally confirm a cultural stereotype.
The Welsh:
The 'poor cousins' of the aforementioned (literally), the Welsh are a simple rural people who have arguably a funnier accent than the Scots. We thoroughly enjoyed listening to them speak Welsh (which is very common), and once again were pleased to find a polite, welcoming people.
Their houses are proudly clad with what can only be described as a pebble/cement mix, which may or may not (depending on the era of construction) be laced with asbestos. You can't really drive far without a reminder that mining is a core part of the economy in much of this region.
In summary:
This part of the world has been raved about before by Australian travellers. Sure, it doesn't have the beaches and 'continental Europe' feel of our other destinations, but I loved it for its simplicity; its green fields, friendly faces and good beer. Pubs were everywhere, and accommodation was great value. We even camped in Scotland and Ireland without freezing.
It is, however, a part of the world which must be taken in via a car to appreciate its true value - although the cities were beautiful and unique, the country areas were truly special and provided some unforgettable memories for both of us.
I would liken it to:
Antiques Roadshow sure makes a lot more sense to me now...
