Road trip.

After a busy and tiring week we made it back to Spain on a very good Ryannair flight from Marrakech to Seville. For all the people who have had bad experiences with this airline our experience was great. The plane was on time, the staff were pleasant and the flight uneventful. And we made sure we printed our own boarding pass so as not have to pay £70 for them to print it for us.... Must be a pretty sweet printer they use.

 

Lovely. And sunny.

 

Ah Seville! Warm and floral scented. People skating and biking, running, wandering and eating. Lots to see and do.

 

The best thing about Seville is the food. There are loads of really good tapas restaurants and bars that are out on really pretty streets. Lots of orange trees and lovely laneways.

 

Yum. O.

 

 

And the Cathedral. It's a beauty. Not as good as Well's, but bloody big and impressive. So big that it rates as the third biggest church in the world. It was originally the site of a mosque, being in the southern part of Spain where the Moors had the most influence, and was built up into a church in the 1400's. Christopher Columbus is buried there and, well, it's just cool.

 

The inside...

 

The outside.

 

 

We decided the best way to see as much as we could in a short time was to rent a car and drive through Andalucia. Renting the car and driving out of Seville was surprisingly easy and the driving was a pleasant meander over the gently winding roads. Past gigantic fields of olives and almonds and wheat.

 

Ronda was crazy it is so huge now. The bull ring is just the same though as is the old part of town. These all look much the same as they did many years ago although now everything is so much cleaner and the roads are really very good thanks to European money.

 

The bridge at Ronda is a marvel of masonry and a beautiful structure. Oh yes, Paul chopped off all his hair.

 

Short and sweet.

 

 

Down the windy, windy roads (is that windy or windy?) - the wriggly one. Very steep at the sides so don't look down. Windy down past the terraces of olives to Casarabonela and keep on looking ahead until yes! there it is! Arggh! What's that?

 

El Sartillo.

 

El Sartillo, where I lived for a couple of years many moons ago, slowly turning into dust in the middle of the orange field. That was a sad sight. Nice to see it though. And Siri's parents place all locked up with a huge gate looking fierce.

 

Time to move on... Along the tiny windy road to Alora, the back way, then to El Chorro still a fantastic sight. The walkways and the bridge were built as an access way to the hydro electric scheme in the 1920's. now it's super popular with climbers.

 

Feeling brave?

 

 

Next it was up into the mountains above Antequerra to El Torcal, those timeless rock are always amazing to see. I hadn't realised you can see all the way to Malaga from here.

 

Some nice rock piling, courtesy of the weather.

 

And eventually, after a super 400km drive, we made it to Granada.

 

 

 

 

Rockin' the Kasbah

For me one of the best aspects of Moroccan life is the street vendors and shops in general. It's all tiny stores that spill onto the street, or stalls on the street itself. But there are basically no big shops, no supermarkets, no chain stores, nothing bigger than a small bedroom really.

 

Of course there are McDonalds and stuff in the modern part of town but even there there are not really many large shops as we know them. Which means you would have to go to one man for spices, another for meat, a different lady for fruit, another for potatoes and so on. It's how it should be, because you would live within 5 minutes walk pretty much. Certainly reduces packaging which has got to be a good thing. The areas that have rubbish, and on the whole Morocco is fairly tidy, have plastic bags and bottles piled up or scattered about. Plastic just looks so bad and yucky. Boo!

 

Street in Meknes market area.

 

 

Also there are so many craftspeople working busily away making things, from clothes to shoes to tables. And you can see them working, see things being made right in front of you. I love the cotton winders, usually a two man job (men seem to be the sewers here, at least commercially) where one winds and one holds the spool. Because the cotton is is long though they will loop it through a door handle sometimes 15 metres up the street and run it back again, then start winding, so you have these super long lines of cotton running along the walls that you have it look out for. It's great. I love the honesty of it all, the fact that it requires people to do it, not machines. In saying that they have some pretty funky machinery though, god knows when some of it was made but it was a fair while ago.

 

 

Winding cotton.

 

Ubiquitous street cats.

 

 

We are now warmly ensconced in Marrakech. I write "warmly" cos summer has finally kicked in, although I'm sure it helps being on the edge(ish) of the Sahara desert.

 

Turns out Marrakech is quite a long way from anywhere. It's the end of the train line that runs down the edge of Morocco from Tangiers to Casablanca then heads south - east for a few hours to Marrakech. The only way to get further south is by bus, camel or 4 wheel drive. But then also you get a bit close to dodgy territory so we won't be doing that.

 

The main focal point of Marrakech is the square / plaza of Djemaa El-Fna. It's surrounded by cafes, food stalls, restaurants with (gratefully utilised) balconies, alleyways, roofs full of satellite dishes and a couple of Mosques. Leading out from the square is the main market area and the Medina which is the old streets area.

 

 

The square by day. Add a few thousand at night.

 

The square by night.

 

 

The square has more snake charmers and vendors, but also monkeys, dancing men, horse drawn carts, lots of motorbikes and general mayhem.

 

Marrakech is not the sort of place where one casually wanders aimlessly, stopping to take photos or gaze at a particularly interesting building, where you feel relaxed and without any pressures. It's more like being pounded by massive surf at Piha or Bells Beach. It's full on.

 

You are almost constantly called out at to try this restaurant, look at these shoes, be shown directions to somewhere you may or may not wish to go, to buy a bag, to be asked where you are from or even just said hello to. So it's tiring but interesting at the same time. The people are friendly and helpful, and not overly pushy nor intimidating at all (apart from when the carpet guy got a bit worked up), its just that there is no rest. Also it's hard to take pictures because sometimes you are told "no" by people nearby, or you feel you will have to pay for the pleasure which is sort of fair enough but it makes it a bit of a chore rather than a way of recording the amazing things we have seen.

 

 

Luckily we get to relax back at our secret base where the noise can't find us...

 

Hows the serenity...

 

But in amongst the hustle and bustle are little corners, small oases of tranquility. With dappled shade and soft cushions, or a leafy tree and a wooden seat. Two or three men sitting talking, drinking tea. Quiet areas with lovely colours and a nice feel...

 

 

Jo and our local guide.

So yesterday's adventure involved a stroll through the souks (market area) towards the leather tanneries. We weren't actually planning on going in on this particular jaunt but of course a young lad stops us, asks where we are from (ah, kangaroo) and explains which road goes where, and can be help us get anywhere?

 

Of course we must go to the tannery he insists, he will show us, but look here is his friend who works there and is going there anyway so we should just go with him, no money, we are friends, please. So we tag along with our newly acquired guide to the tannery area, where he drops us off with another chap with instructions to show us around. So the next guy (where you from? Ah, kangaroo, Melbourne or Sydney?) gives us some fresh mint leaves for a gas mask (tanning leather stinks) and shows us around two tanneries, quickly, but god all the same. It's pretty amazing, camel, sheep and dromedary skins in various stages of becoming leather. Kind of yucky (actually really yucky) but very interesting.

 

Not a fun job, seriously.

 

 

Hairy and stinky.

 

So then our guide shoots us out of the tannery, across the street and into a door.... a shop door selling leather bags and of course, rugs. Ah, we'll done lads, you got us.

 

But of course we are all friends, we want to show you our rugs because we know you will like them, and you will drink tea and we will sit and relax. Now we've both been here and done this before but once you're in they're good at keeping you in. So we saw some beautiful rugs, and the man was very friendly and funny and we got along well and he knew about the Christchurch earthquake and he showed us addresses of customers from Australia and he was very amiable indeed. And of course it's not important what the rugs cost, let's just see what you like best, just because it is nice to see beautiful things, and Berber people are so friendly and we will be friends no matter what, ok?

 

Yup.

 

So of course after a while we have identified a few rugs we like best (and we did like them and they would have looked great at home) but then he started talking prices, and could we please just give him a price too and then we can see? But we really actually didn't want to buy a rug no matter how nice or for whatever price so after a bit he starts getting a bit jumpy and worked up, so Jo says she is leaving and she does and he says ok Paul, we take your price but then I leave too before the door gets closed properly and then our tannery guide comes after us asking if everything is okay and could he have some money for showing us around so I give him some money and we dart off into the winding back streets before anyone else can follow us.

 

 

So it got a bit more exciting than we had planned. But we rewarded ourselves with our first beers for three or four days at an upstairs bar that was a total rip off despite being two for one, being served by young men wearing fez hats and having no idea what they were doing.

 

Drinks o'clock.

 

 

And as for rocking the Kasbah, well below is a picture of the big gate that leads to the aforementioned area. We didn't so much rock it as wander in and looked at the storks nesting on top of the walls. Not very rocking at all really, but I don't think there is a song that goes "strollin' the Kasbah", is there?

 

The Clash were here.

 

 

I forgot to mention the smells here. One minute you are getting wafts of mint, or cumin or some other spice, the next diesel or stinky fish or open sewer, then delicious grilled meat smells and coffee roasting, then back to rubbish and fetidness. It's quite a roller coaster for the olfactory glands.

 

 

And that's about it for now. Hopefully we'll mange to get a few decent pictures of the snakes being charmed tomorrow (anyone know how they do that by the way?), and a few more that better capture the combination of chaos and calm.

 

To Morocco (and back...?)

Arty at the Louvre.

After arriving in Paris from London we decided that 3 days would be enough for us. Time was running out on our Schengen rules and we need more time in Spain. We did a lot of walking in Paris and ate some very nice food.

So what did we see in Paris? Le tour de eiffel, Le Louvre, a fantastic building that houses the African art collection, Notre Dame, Sacre Cour, lots of train stations and so many people on the trains. Our line out to Clichy is obviously one of the lines with all of the "others" on it. The trains were so crowded you had to push and push to get on, and sometimes to get off.

 

 

Maths appreciation...

Our room in Clichy was quite small and quite stinky! I found out why it stunk so much after a bit of detective work. Yep the pipe from the toilet was broken leaving a gaping hole for all of the fumes to exit from. Nothing that a bit of glad wrap covered by alfoil wouldn't fix. I knew it would be no point asking down stairs for it to be fixed.

 

Paris was fun and we enjoyed going out and seeing things but it was quite cold and we knew it was time to move on. This time by plane! To the sun!

 

 

Art appreciation...

 

 

Snail appreciation.

 

 

We arrived at Malaga airport after a nice little flight from Paris. How much this place had changed there is even a train station here now. We took the train to somewhere and then walked down the hill to Carahuela arriving eventually at our hotel for the next few days, Hotel Miami! We went out for a beer and tapas which were initially quite uninspiring then to the next bar which had better tapas. I had a tortilla here for you Jimmi! Back then to the hotel for a swim in the pool and to decide on the next few days. It was at this time we decided to go to Morocco and also change out flights home. Dinner on the first night was what I had been waiting for - fish as I remembered it. I was a bit disappointed though. Deep fried everything.

 

 

Our digs in Carahuela.

Some of you reading this will know that I lived in Torremolinos and in the nearby hills for a few years many lifetimes ago. It has changed a great deal, so much bigger and everything is built up. There is even a train to El Chorro now. Although there are changes, I also saw that some things hadn't changed. My dentist was still there, he must be old by now! And the fish restrauants at La Carahuela still serve the same fish delights. Sol y sombre still tastes delicious. We stayed at one of the oldest hotels in La Carahuela and it was an extremely good choice. They say it was designed by Picasso's cousin.

 

 

So we sauntered around Malaga a bit, lay in the sun a bit, ate delicious tapas a bit, practised our Spanish a bit, and did not that much a bit. All good really.

 

Early in the morning we caught the bus and arrived in Algeciras bus station after a long wind down the coast. I couldn't see Mijas as it was too foggy. Fuengirola was so huge it pretty well went all the way down through Marbella to Estapona. Buildings everywhere, but also a great freeway and huge Corte Inglese stores in each town. It was crazy. Many of the towns have improved from this development.

 

At Algeciras I noticed the bus next to us was going to Tarifa so we got onto that and after half an hour we arrived in Tarifa, one of the most southern parts of Spain and also the windsurfing capital. We walked through town and eventually found the ferry port, booked a ticket which was for the 12 , no that's cancelled, the 1 no, that one is cancelled as well, so the two o'clock ferry to Tangier. As we had a few hours to kill we went to find food and were most surprised to find a fantastic little place called Bamboo that served modern, healthy and interesting food. Not that we have anything against raciones or tapa's, we have had some delicious meals but sometimes it is nice to get something you would make yourself on a daily basis. The coffee was quite good as well.

 

 

Finally we got onto the ferry and took off across the water towards Morocco. Most of the trip was spent in a line on the boat to get our passports checked and stamped. We arrived in Tangier and by passed all the touts and headed into the town to find our hotel. We walked straight to the place Paul had marked on the map only to find it was a quite seedy looking apartment block. Great, no hotel! I was busting for a 'Noddy' as it is called now. No hotel and no idea where we were. Great!

 

Then out of the blue Lawrence arrived on his horse with his gilabra flowing into the wind. Actually it was Ibram in parachute pants, a few teeth and some hair. He collected Paul into his arms and said he will save him. I just tagged along behind with my head scarf and fully covered arms and legs. We walked up hill and down dale Paul and his mate had a fine time laughing and high fiveing when something was said. Every now and then they would glance back to see if I was still tagging on. After about 1/4 of an hour I was getting a bit over cooked and really beginning to question whether we were going to end up in some crazy situation. Then after about half an hour of walking there we were in front of our hotel - amazing! And it only cost us about 6 times the taxi fare. Haha.

 

The view from the train to Meknes. Surprisingly normal.

 

 

We were quite tired after all this adventure so we distanced ourselves for a bit of time, Paul down to the bar with the only Internet we had in the hotel and me 3 floors up for a bath, trying to get back some of the fluid I had lost in my walking race through Tangier. We were wrecked and I thought we might not get outside but we did and we had a wonderful time walking through the streets of Tangier looking for a place to eat. No one hassled us and we eventually found a really nice place for a meal, which was wonderful. Paul drank two Moroccan beers that were alright. Thank you Tangier.

 

As I look out the window at the train stop Gare de Sidi Kacem I wonder what will be in store for us at Meknes. I am watching the arrival of the 2.12 to Marrakech and know in a few days that will be us... All aboard on the Marrakech express ...

 

 

Our room in Meknes. Not as normal.

Our room in Meknes. Not as normal.

 

But first it's Meknes. An old town that they say is more relaxed than Fez or Marrakech. They must be nuts cos this place is busy. Friendly, not too mad, but busy. Our room is in a beautiful Riad, like a traditional house with lots of tiles, narrow stairs, courtyards, roof top seating areas, that sort of thing. Pretty nice. It's in the Medina, so the old part of town with narrow alleys and stuff piled on top of stuff. It's cool.

 

Look closely...

 

 

We headed out to the main square to check out the action. Awesome. Berber buskers, snake charmers, (snake charmers!!) ostrich eggs for sale, people selling things that I have no idea what they were, and even a clown. Fantastic. We cruised the market stalls, drank mint tea, got a bit lost but not much, soaked it all in and somehow found our way home.

 

 

Spices, but check the coloured piles!

 

 

Relaxing near the town gate.

 

Snake charmers are cool.

 

Brace yourself, it's an epic.

Winding our way up the hill and back again.

Not a sculpture

It has been a while since the last blog, and there is a good reason. It is very hard to write when driving or even being a passenger. At the end of each day it is cooking, washing and battening down the hatches time. We had lovely weather in London and Wales and mistakenly we thought maybe we were bringing the sun with us. Well, we weren't. What ever was holding the good weather in place snapped with a THUNK! when we left Mandy and Jimmi's new mansion at Thornton le Dale on the Yorkshire moors. I had better fill this part in as the last blog was up to Wales.

 

 

They are very beautiful, the moors. We had a lovely time looking around at Whitby. Yes saw the captain, and millions of round people eating fish and chips enjoying the bank weekend. We went to a great little pub in Lewishham which is a place close to nowhere and in between somewhere and somewhere else. Then we went to the Yorkshire sculpture park which had some good works but it seems to need some refurbishment as the works in the grounds are looking very dated. There was a very interesting exhibition by a English African guy Yinka Shonibare MBE. Colourful, interesting and well made. I reqlly enjoyed his interpretation of "The masked ball"

 

 

English BBQ! Hoorah!

However, The best part of our stay was the picturesque village of Thornton le Dale. It is quaint and quite well preserved, unlike so much of England. The village still functions with a post office and village shop, unfortunately the butcher shop has shut recently. And the old peoples' home is attached to one of the local pubs, how cool. We had a BBQ "outdoors" and stayed out until about 9 pm in the sun which was amazing.

 

 

 

 

Then we started up the road towards Edinburgh and it started to rain and I don't think it has really stopped since. Oh yes it did stop some times and that was when the wind was blowing a gale. It is nice to be in a car though and I am glad I am not one of those crazy people we see riding a push bike with panniers. Or even more crazy walking beside a road with a full pack. We often wonder where on earth are these people going?

 

Our drive took us through north east Yorkshire where we saw Anthony Gormleys 'Angel of the North'. We arrived in Edinbugh and settled in for the night ready for a big look around the next day and, as it turned out, Paul's Birthday, which I forgot, you would think being so close for the last three months that would be something high on the list of things to remember. We were quite hungry and decided to have a birthday lunch. Paul had Haggis and tatties and neaps, which was pretty forgetable. As was the beer. Haggis is quite nice but it seems that chefs do some pretty terrible things with it. We saw the castle but didn't go in and a few churches which were big and much warmer than the European ones. And we walked up and down the Royal mile about 15 times looking for the toy museum, which once found, turned out to be quite good- and free! The national gallery had some interesting art works in it including some Rembrants, Van Gogh, and Degas. The layout of the gallery was quite confusing and a bit old fashioned but well maintained and the staff looked very nice in their Tartan uniforms. We left Edinburgh after looking for the Robbie Burns memorial, we found everyone else's in the park and it wasn't until we were driving out of town we found Burns's overlooking Arthur's seat.

 

 

St Monans, perhaps...

Up the road we headed towards Perth to see Jen and all of the boys, taking the coastal route through St Monan and St Andrews- The cathedral must have been huge! The bases of the pillars are the seize of a small car. St Andrews is probably a beautiful place on a nice day and there a quite a few interesting little shops BUT! Now, I don't want to seem negative and picky but how many op shops does Britain really need? I am really surprised to see whole High Streets full of 'Save the whales, Cancer foundation, MSSufferers need hep, Celiac sufferers unite, One legged dog Hospice there are fund raising shops EVERYWHERE! How come these shops can afford the High Street rents and some small business's have just shut their doors after 200 years of the same family trading in the same shop and city for 200 years? This leaves Britain smelling of mothballs and old cupboards. Britain looks like it has not left the 40's and it is often very ugly. When there is something interesting to see it is very expensive to get into and invariably surrounded by a pay and display car park that has ridiculous parking limits and payment options. At this point I would like to say thank you to all those small businesses who struggle to make life more interesting, to all of the exhibitions that don't require huge payment to see them to the small towns that have said no to pay and display.

 

 

We had a super night with Jen and Paul and Nicholas and Louis (thank you very much! Hope the cricket went well) then it was up into the hills of Scotland, past Balmoral where we were not invited in for tea as the Queen was not there. Up to Inverness and down past Loch Ness for more pay and displays and no Monster. I reckon if you have to pay to just park they could at least rummage up a loch-beast or two. By golly it was green and watery in those parts. Water gushing out of every nook and cranny, water rushing through gaps and gorges, water pouring under bridges and over rocks. Very pretty. And very mossy which I like.

 

 

Driving in Scotland, rainy.

We made it through the rain and over to Skye which is an awesome place. If you like rocks, cliffs, peaks, mist, windswept villages of white cottages and rainbows you'll like Skye. Just bring a raincoat and a warm hat. We spent a very windy night in a fairly sheltered camp ground where we were luckily able to use our cooker in a "camper's bothy", otherwise it would have been no hot dinner for us. The wind does rather wreck havoc with the gas jets...

 

 

 

 

 

Old Man of Storr.

 

 

 

 

Traffic jam, Skye style.

 

 

 

The next morning had us searching unsuccessfully (we think) for dinosaur footprints. I write "think" as it was a bit hard to tell. Evidently this beach had a few excellent specimens that were worth hunting for, so we hunted. Then it rained and we stopped.

 

 

Hang in there, Comet!

 

 

Back on the mainland we weaved and wended our way through incredible hills. Classic highland rolling clouds, mist sweeping into valleys, peaks jutting up into the sky, rivers plunging down though the flats. Great driving country and, again, full of crazy walkers. Full credit to these nutters, all through Scotland there were people, ordinary people, not Bear Grylls types, striding purposefully along with huge packs, wet weather gear and walking poles. Going somewhere I guess but bugger me we couldn't tell. Mid week! Don't these people have jobs?

 

Putting the "high" into the Highlands.

 

 

 

Islay... Ahh... It was a bit disappointing to learn that all of the distilleries on Islay are owned by big multinationals, I guess that is the reality these days. Laphroig for example are owned by the Louis Vuitton folks it turns out. Also most of them get their malting done at the same joint on Islay, buy barley from the mainland and import their yeast from pretty much one place. And of course the peat all comes from the island as does the water. So the only differences are how much they smoke their malt, the shape of their stills and a few tweaks such as length of fermentation (far quicker and far, far more dramatic than beer fermentation). Still it was very interesting and we learnt a lot and got to drink whisky we normally can't get. And we did find the one distillery that is family owned, uses at least a proportion of Islay barley, and is a bit more small scale. To be fair there is no way the big kids could meet their demand without being mass produced. Lagavulin for instance is at maximum capacity and has to age and bottle most of their whisky on the mainland cos they have no space at the distillery. And Bruichladdich also uses some Islay barley.

 

 

And, bonus, we got to visit my very own piece of Islay land on the Laphroig site. And I'm happy to report that my square foot is in a better position than most. And claimed my rent too, they pay a dram per year for them to use your land. You just have to go there to collect the rent.

 

 

Time was running out, a dash to Glasgow to post some unneeded winter gear home then it was "so long" Scotland and "hello" England again.

 

Jo loving the Pencil Museum.

 

 

Hadrian's Wall, impressive. Lake District, pretty as a postcard. Pencil Museum, actually rather fascinating and quite a delight for Jo. Across through Yorkshire again. Peak District, peaky. More mad walkers. Stratford-upon-Avon, old and very Tudor looking. London, train to Paris.

 

 

 

Here we hit a snag. The plan had been to sneak back into Europe and be able to stay until mid July, but a pesky date stamp in the passport, and some internet research has meant that we got worried about staying too long in the Schengen zone (google it, its very helpful for Europeans, very unhelpful and stupid for non-europeans wanting a long holiday) so we have had to tweak our plans.

 

 

After a few coolish but highly cultural and good days in Paris we flew (flew! In a plane, first time for months! Quite strange actually) down to Malaga and finally, finally sunshine and heat. Shorts, swimming, sunglasses, sunscreen, fresh fish, and Spanish.

 

So the new plan is that tomorrow we're getting the ferry to..... Morocco! Very, very exciting. Partly cos we needed to get out of Europe again in order to prolong our holiday, and partly cos we're so close to it we may as well. And it's hot there too which is a good thing.

 

 

Last thing - beer report for the UK. I had high hopes for Britain, I like ale, I like beer at a temperature that allows it to have flavour, I like old fashioned beer and breweries that have history. In saying that I also like flavour and punch and interesting styles, so England was a big let down. I reckon I had about three or four beers in England that I would like to drink again. The standard pub gets all excited about serving 'real ale', and they do serve it, just that its not very good. And for some reason I have yet to fathom English beer is almost all of a fairly low alcohol percentage (like 3.8 - 4.4 is standard) which I think contributes to the lack of oomph in the flavour. Disappointing.

 

 

Wales was better, and it was good to find a number of Wales owned breweries and some very good micro breweries. But Scotland, oh my goodness Scotland. Rates alongside Belgium and the Czech Republic in my book. (legal disclaimer: there is no book) Strong flavours, interesting flavours, lots of micro breweries, organic beer, lots of hops, higher alcohol content, and all readily available. Superb. Nearly all the beers I had in Scotland I really, really liked. Best ones were from the Harviestoun brewery and the Black Isle brewery. They were quite outstanding. I think Scottish brewers are less confined by tradition perhaps and the success of Brew Dog I think has also encouraged brewers to create more diverse beers.

 

 

Beer report from Morocco? That could be a challenge. Mint tea anyone?

 

Just like Jonah.

Wales. Green. Sheepy. Hilly.

 

So many, many sheep and lambs, so much grass and green things. Such a lot of hills and valleys and winding roads. And the weather, sublime. We both even wore shorts yesterday! And it was hot! (ish)

 

It has been perfectly sunny for three days in a row which has been so nice. And the beaches in Wales are actually really very good. I think it helps that there has been no wind at all so the sea is all calm and blue, but they look pretty good. Especially with the colourful houses that line the waterfront, or the green hills that go down to them, and a lines and lines of aeroplane trails across the sky. Wales must have the world's busiest airspace - there are constant paths being traced across the sky. At any one time you can count as ten or more trails being formed.

 

 

But a wee bit of background story. We left Exmoor and drove up to Gloucestershire to visit Clare, a friend of Jo's and her partner Calvin. They live in a beautiful part of England. We had a super meal and got to sleep in a real bed again too so that was a bonus.

 

On our way we passed through Wells to see the cathedral. It was amazing. Best church in all of Europe. And we have seen most of them (apart from France, so they might have a contender too). But it really was incredible. Photos don't do it justice, and I took over 70 photos of it too, so I tried. Here is a taste but you have to be inside it to get the full impact obviously.

 

All this modern stuff was built in the 1400's. How about that?

 

 

 

Next morning we wound our way through many lanes and after quite a bit of asking for directions and reversing down narrow roads we found Jo's friend Carolyn's house in another pretty part of England. After which it was New Country time again and we drove into Wales.

 

First stop was the Brecon Beacon national park where we were struck by full blown green, green, green, green, grass. With cute skippy lambs and steep hills. Its been a bumper breeding season by the looks of it. The stupid thing is we saw New Zealand lamb in a market. Why on earth would you bother flying packets of frozen NZ lamb chops over to Wales which has so many sheep? I don't get it. It can't possibly be cheaper, it can't possible be better tasting, and they looked pretty average too. What a waste of time and money.

 

Whats more Welsh than sheep? Coal mining! We totally went down a coal mine. Check Jo out. She loved it. Or not. (Rugby, slate, leeks and stone bridges are also perhaps more Welsh than sheep...)

 

Going down mine.

 

We all had to wear helmets and lights and carry breathing apparatus cos there is still a slight chance of methane and carbon monoxide and stuff down there. Pretty shit job mining coal back in the day I reckon. And the mine owners sounded like a pack of wankers. Pardon my language, but if you pay your workers in tokens that can only be redeemed at a store owned by you, and charge so much that the worker has to go into debt to buy enough food to feed the family, and then once they are in you debt they can't quit their job, then you are a wanker. But the guide showing us around was funny as, and it was very interesting if a little claustrophobic making for Jo.

 

I think many many years of working down mines perhaps explain why the Welsh are so short and um, solid. Ad pasty, jeepers guys, get some sun.

 

Next stop was Cardiff. Then along the coast to Tenby which is super lovely and has two very nice beaches.

 

 

Tenby in the evening. Lovely.

 

Not Tenby, but if you look closely, legs!

 

Also not Tenby, just quaint.

 

Then we meandered up the coast, through more hills, and up into slate country. That's pretty crazy. Whole mountains made of slate, and the houses are cool as, and blend in rather well. Amazing walls too for the sheep, walls that go straight up the hills. Now we have turned East again and are spending the night on near the northern Welsh coast in our first busy camp ground - it's a long weekend see. It's fun watching novices trying to put up massive, massive tents in strong winds while we shelter in our ship. (weather turned a bit crapper today, I preserved with shorts again though. And two woolly jumpers.)

 

Beautiful. Nice bridge too.

 

Welsh slate hills.

 

 

Tomorrow it's off to England and Yorkshire! Ale! Spotted Dick! Accents!