Tag: travel

Limits

It is day 876,352 of having Covid. 

Really, in actual fact, it is day 5 of testing positive. My life hasn’t changed apart from missing one day of work and allowing myself to watch as much tv as possible until my body needs sleep. Today has been a busy day considering that on Saturday I slept for over 20 hours. I woke up and no longer felt the fatigue in my bones. So I grabbed the laptop and started ploughing through the to-do list for our next big trip. 

To be fair it is a small list at this point, but two hours in and one of the days on the trip had transformed completely. Out of the 14 mornings while we are away, most of them start before 7:30am. In fact, most start at 6am. Paint me shocked. Tell the girl from 10 years ago who’s days usually started at lunchtime. Mr W has definitely had an impact. 

The plans I looked at today were busy enough to have us doing three big hikes starting at 6am. There’s maybe one day when we need to start at 5am to drive for two hours to witness the sunrise and I don’t mind it as a one off, but there are certain limitations when it comes to the body. Hell, in January, after a fortnight of deep research and planning for this trip, my limit light was blinking and my brain shut down! So, doing an endless fortnight of 14 hour days of photography, walking, driving and battling all the elements is going to be exhausting. So, when I found myself cutting parts out of the day in question, I was pleasantly surprised at how calm I was. When it comes to travelling I rarely know my limits. I will be up and ready for a long day and I will never go back to a hotel without completing an itinerary. It’s how I’m built. 

Or at least how I thought I was built. Today’s cut, pastes and deletes were owed to something new I found to do near Ben Nevis, a place which opens a lot later than the rest of Scotland. This caused a shift in the day’s plans and meant taking two things off the agenda. It made me choose between events rather than force myself to do everything. In light of these changes, I realised that we would be too late to another event and with a quick ‘delete’ and an ‘Oh well’ I made the necessary adjustments. This is not me!

Also, I know how frustrating it might be for me to sound so vague, but I really want my first experience of telling you about our trip to Scotland to sound fresh, so keeping details back as much as possible is really important. Stay tuned!

It’s not that I haven’t had limits before, I have, I’ve dragged my arse across Australia feeling tired up to my eyeballs. I’ve forced my feet up and down the avenues of New York because the itinerary calls for it. My limits are screaming at me like warning bells and I hear them, I just pretend I don’t.

It’s only since travelling in this country and the changes that lockdown brought about that the voice inside my head with all warnings about limits has started to make sense. In our personal lives we’ve even started to block out weekends so we can be at home, together, with nothing else to do. Inevitably, when I get a message asking if I’m free on those blocked out days, I will feel awful about saying we aren’t available because I’m a 1000% committed people pleaser. Being a people pleaser has ultimately stopped me looking after myself in situations and in turn neglecting Mr W. His limits are often dictated by my own. And that is not fair. Saying no to people is a crushing feeling. Especially as I never have. There’s a mass of guilt that swarms over me everytime I do. And that in particular is something I have to work on.

It just so happens that the weekend just past was blocked out. We needed to do this so we could spend some much needed time in the house we pay a mortgage for because June saw us come and go like passengers at a railway station. And then we got covid and were home anyway. Maybe fete stepped in and missed the memo.

During lockdown we found it hard at first to sit still, but as the weeks dragged on we found comfort in these walls. And as the world began to open up, we found ourselves dreading going backwards into the fray of events. It’s a complicated feeling. It isn’t the events that are the problem. It’s the sheer number of them. It’s knowing your limits. There came a time where we’d be seeing people for brunch on a Saturday morning, after a heavy night out the Friday, running a quick errand before seeing family on the Saturday afternoon and then heading out that night. Repeating ourselves on Sunday. Time flew and it felt difficult to enjoy it. How could we be in the moment, when we were thinking of where we had to race off to next?

When lockdown ended in July 2020, I particularly found it difficult to return to normal. To hug again, close the window and enter the crowds. An afternoon with friends was beautiful and yet saw me sleeping after the exposure to filled hours. Since we’ve put a curb on our weekends, we feel lighter and have to remind ourselves that doing things on other weekends shouldn’t be classed as ‘busy’ but ‘enjoyable’ instead. Yes, we still get rather busy, but it isn’t work, it is socialising. It’s freedom. It’s life. 

For the first time in my life, I’m appreciating the limits before they appear. I realise now that the fear of limiting your life, your time, yourself is very real. Push just a bit harder. Strive for more. You can do it. However there is a very large part of life that calls for boundaries and the ability to say no. It is self preservation. It is knowing that no matter how hard you try, keeping the pace is not always possible. Saying no every once in a while has to be a good thing. Choosing to stop instead of being forced to stop is always going to be win-win. Lockdown taught us that. And for that I am grateful.  

Photo by Dave Watson

Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com

Planning the NC500 cont.

Well here we are, I have covid.

I ‘the ultra liable to get sick’ have managed for two and a half years to keep completely healthy and bam it’s got me!

So far it’s been body aches, night sweats and shivers, a running tap of a nose and loss of appetite. Oh, and the sore skin! Omgosh. My skin feels burned. 

But other than that I am lucky. Either without the jabs, now or back in 2020, or with a stronger strain perhaps, things could have been so different. 

I’m counting my lucky stars for sure. 

Sleeping hasbeen the main course of action. Yesterday I saw sunlight for 4 broken hours. Crazy. Today the aches are subsiding, the temperature is just hot hot hot and I’m not so tired. Ever the optimist, ha, I’m thinking this all means good. I’ve taken solace that I havent lost my sense of taste, albeit I’m not hungry but I’m guzzling down tea like never before and it does taste like tea so yippee!

You may have noticed my last few posts were rather abstract. With my fuzzy head I delved into my archive of writings and dug out what I could. It was that or mash my forehead on the keyboard and pray for something good to come out of it. I will let you decide if the route I chose was the best. 

So Scotland, there have been several updates to the plans which is great. It’s finally getting somewhere! We are no longer stuck in a rut and movement is being made.

Most of the hotels have now gotten back to me regarding the recycling emails I sent out, so that is a big weight off of my chest. I’ve compiled all the info (nerd) so I know how to plan for our sustainable rubbish collections as we go along. 

After trying to fit a whiskey distillery into our trip, Mr W decided it wasn’t worth all the detouring and squeezing of our timelines. So that is a rather big adjustment I don’t have to make. I don’t drink whiskey at all, Mr W would give it a go, but ultimately it is something you are told time and time again to do when you head to the highlands, so into the plans it went. Unfortunately the time we have in Skye was planned around one particular distillery, and when it came to booking, they are under refurbishment. There is SO much we want to do on the Isle of Skye that adjusting became such a nightmare. It was doable, by my standards at least, but it did mean another day of getting up at an ungodly hour. And quite frankly, if my stomach and gag reflex around whiskey is anything like it is around brandy, we could have been in a bit of a pickle. That pickle being a mound of pukey puke puke! So that’s another item… not ticked, but deleted off the to-do list. Which in a way has given us more time to wander around Portree harbour and we actually get time for a hot meal. I mean, hello!

Speaking of which, I finally remembered to call a restaurant to book us in for dinner the night before we arrive in Inverness. It is in a tiny town at the very top of the Cairngorms, and one of the last times we’ll eat hot food off of a plate. Sounds dramatic, but it is true. 

I’ve had a brief look into geocaching and nothing jumped out at me when I looked at the list. This may be something I come back to at a later date. Maybe. Probably one sleepless night. This is a possible ‘to be continued’ moment. 

I’ve also tried paying off our final accommodations and yet they are all pay on arrival, so that’s a note made on the itinerary. 

All rather boring stuff I’m afraid. I’ve even tried to book the very last thing on my list and the website is being refurbished, so I can’t! Ha! You cannot make it up.

Right now, I’m checking out locations on our route that can help us get some family tartan. That would be the only souvenir I plan to get on this whole trip, so I want to make sure that I pre-order it and that I don’t have to travel too far off of our route to get it. I have a few that I’ve found and will check them out soon.

All very thrilling stuff as I’m sure you can determine for yourself. For now, my head is getting fuzzy, my temperature is spiking and my final cup of tea of the day is calling. 

Well done to the people who have beaten me and still not caught covid. Thank you to the jabs for making sure I’m not suffering too badly. And praise the tea-god for they are all so powerful!

Planning for the NC500

It has been a while since I’ve given an update on the big trip coming up for us in late summer. As of midnight tonight, our mega busy month of June will be over and it is just as well as Mr W has caught covid. So this weekend of planned ‘time-out’ truly will be a stay at home event. No plans. No house stuff. Not even sharing a bed or a sofa at the moment with the fella so it is truly a time-out event. He actually seems okay at the moment which is a huge relief. So yes, June has been a tad mad. A weekend away in Norfolk. A long weekend in Northumberland. Family parties. Errands galore. Life. And finding time to run this house. But hey, we made it through!

And here we start the countdown to Scotland! The NC500 is calling and I cannot believe we are so close. The house is starting to look like a doomsdayers shelter with boxes piling high for all the food and supplies we are taking. The itinerary I have (so far) is crazy long and it is still not finished. 

Granted there are minor things left to be done now, a few payments, adjustments mainly to the Isle of Skye section and a couple of reservations to be made. Otherwise it’s the behind the scenes stuff. I need to get my organising head on and tackle all the food boxes. I really do not want to spend my days digging through boxes of food to find a meal. So I want our car to be like a pantry, all food that will be eaten in the car, will be in one or two boxes in the rear footwells. This goes for the travel water bottles, drinks, kettle etc. Food in the back of the car will be for meals in the evenings and mornings, so ideally easy to grab as we arrive at hotels along with our essentials such as clothing and toiletries. 

We need an easy system for our clothing so we don’t have to haul our luggage out every night. We have 12 hotels in 14 days, that’s a lot of hauling! 

It feels like the car is basically going to be a home on wheels for 15 days without the bed. 

I’d also like to sort out some kind of bin system for while we are between hotels so we’re not mixing up recyclables with rubbish. Today, I spent some time contacting all of our hotels and I have to say it’s been an unexpected surprise. I’ve heard back from 8 or so, so far, and they have all been super friendly and understanding of our mission to be sustainable while on our trip. A few have said they pick through the bins from the guest rooms themselves and divide up the rubbish. Where I commend this, I couldn’t necessarily let someone do this on our behalf. So I’m aiming to use sustainable brown paper bags to put our recyclable waste into and our hopefully very minimal rubbish will be binned in the hotel as provided. If I manage to find the time, I want to find some recycling points along the route too. It just takes the pressure off of us emptying the car at the end of the day. This gives our sustainable mission every opportunity to be fulfilled and definitely makes all the planning worthwhile. 

In the ‘Sustainability on a budget’ and ‘Out of body experience’ blogs from April and May (links below), I spoke about how we had been testing out the idea of tinned food and it’s proved quite successful. All tins but the ravioli and meatballs were really tasty, packed with the protein we’ll need and give us a much needed break from oatmeal and noodles. It’s also saving us a tonne of money. Usually when we go away we can spend anything between £10 on a budget sandwich or £40 for a meal out. These tins and a few crackers are going to cost between £0.90-£2.00 for each of us and where we’ll be in the car constantly or walking it is the most logical way of eating. There are also very few restaurants on the West side of the highlands so this really is a win-win situation. 

Recyclable. Tick. 

Budget friendly. Tick.

Longlife storage. Tick. 

Tasty. Tick.

Sustainability on a budget
Out of body experience number 342

Something I’ve realised from our Northumberland trip is how much space we will be working with in our car. Four of us squeezed into the car for a four day trip. Which is insane, as the two of us need to fit all of our stuff for 15 days! That’s food, luggage, photography equipment and blogging necessities. Next on my to-do list is finding a laundrette so we can take a week’s worth of clothing to cut down on the space our luggage takes up. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot of possibilities to wear the same trousers for a few days in a row or I’m sure Mr W could do the ol’ underwear flip, but the fact remains, we need to wash our clothes. So far I’ve found one laundrette and it’s on a really busy day for us that we’ll be in that area. I’m sure I’ll find one. My initial search was made when I was fighting to stay awake, one eye open and drained by hayfever. There’s a good chance my brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity!

Little triumphs like the bladder bags and kettle have arrived since I last wrote about this trip. And they have been trialled and tested. They’re not too shabby to be fair and I’m convinced after our water intake in Northumberland that our two 5 litre bottles, that we use for our main water supply on a day to day basis, will save our bacon when it comes to hydration and budget. They will be the only plastic bottles on our trip and the fact that we have been using them for over 2 years makes me really happy. Eco-warrior or eco-geek? 

Mr W also found a bargain the other day that he is rather proud of. A pair of work out leggings? Like the gym ones? I have no idea what they are called. But basically they’ll be worn under his trousers and act like thermal/longjohn type things. He’s very pleased with himself. 

He also *drum roll* bought our first fully capable drone and I’m sure once covid has left this household we’ll be doing lots of test flights. It is a smaller model which means we don’t have to apply for a special incense but we do have to register it. I am really excited about this part of the planning as all you ever see with Scotand are aerial shots and I want to see it from land and air. So I am raring to go!

There is one more thing I’m tempted to add into this trip and that is geocaching. I don’t want it to add any locations to our already bursting itinerary but if there are any geocaches in the places we’ll be going that will certainly make things more interesting. Solving some puzzles along the way will make the long walks just that bit more entertaining I think and it’s also so great to be a part of the journey of others by writing in those little logbooks. This will be one of the last things I look into but I hope we can join in wherever possible. Mr W introduced me to it back in 2013 and I really enjoyed the problem solving part of it all. So as long as it’s fun I don’t see the harm in adding it to this powerhouse of a trip.

One thing that hasn’t worked well, and this is me being totally transparent because you have to be honest about these things, is the ponchos we bought on ebay. They can be used as a ground sheet, strung up to make a temporary shelter or worn to keep dry while walking. They have a hood with a drawstring and are ENORMOUS. Absolutely perfect for covering our backpacks and most of our bodies should we get caught out, which is most likely going to happen, on one of our big walks. Unfortunately, while walking in Kielder this past weekend, nature called and demanded the ponchos be worn. After a 25 minute walk my clothes underneath became a little soggy. My chest, arms and the top of my back were damp on our return to the car and this does not bode well when considering we may be walking in rain for over four hours if we are very unlucky. It’s not so much back to the drawing board on this but a fail-safe backup may be needed. I’m thinking, extremely sturdy umbrellas AND ponchos. This is all to avoid paying the extortionate amounts of money for completely waterproof coats and trousers and using what we have instead. Something we cannot risk, me particularly, is sitting in damp clothes. Especially on my chest. I get ill really easily with colds and chest infections and it may stop the trip in its tracks. So we plan, plan, plan to stop this happening!

My what a lot to do in such a short amount of time. I’ll spend more time as we move closer to the departure date detailing some of the tips I have for the hurdles we’ve come up against and any other purchases we make to help us out. 

For now, night night!

Refreshing thoughts

Good things come to those who wait right?

On our third visit to Northumberland and second try at reaching an art installation in Kielder Forest we failed. It is not a word I like to use. Especially when I am the one making the plans. The first time we tried to reach the Janus chairs we were completely unprepared. Trying to find a map online that details the distance between car parks and each art installation was one of the hardest things as preparation. When we attempted the walk last year (2021) it became pretty clear that we had gone the wrong way and after an hour of walking at 4pm we did not have the time needed to get where we needed to be. We realised it would be a 4 hour walk each way from the Bakethin car park to reach the installation and we would need a return trip. Fast forward to June 2022 and we were game to try again. We started with all good intentions. Taking photos of the maps provided at the car parks and grabbing a hand held map from the Visitor Centre at Leaplish water park we felt more informed than ever. 

Starting late was our first hurdle, we spent a lazy hour at our accommodation after a luxurious lunch and dragged out tired arses to Bakethin Car Park. It was the second hurdle that decided our path would end. The car park instructions on tickets left us confused and with only an hour to make an eight hour hike. Nope!

One of the most important things about our trips to Northumberland is how it has affected my ability to let go. When planning a trip I will plan everything down to the minute, but unusually I haven’t been able to do it with Kielder. When something doesn’t go according to plan I feel like a failure and this time I didn’t. It was like I could enjoy the hour we did take a walk and adjust my thoughts on the matter. It helps that Mr W said ‘Oh well, we’ll just have to come back’ and god is that an idea! Returning to a place for a fourth time. What is happening to us? 

Walking along a very hidden trail aside the reservoir feeling the sun kissing my skin and the wind teasing my hair I felt happy, not frustrated. We walked for 30 minutes until we had to retread our steps and return to the ticking clock of the car park ticket.

As we neared the final leg of the journey we came to the viaduct that crosses the reservoir. Its high and large stone walls give views down into the almost black water and to the treetops. Each time I cross it I find it harder to ignore the pull of the view. It would be fruitless to try. Like a moth to a flame, I am drawn to water and the sun’s reflection upon it.  

As the tunnel of trees opened up to the viaduct, we saw that there were rain clouds sweeping in from the horizon and paused to watch them dance. In moments a fine but angry wall of water hit us. We marched ahead into the next shelter of trees. I love how the scenes in Northumberland National Park can change so quickly and dramatically. 

Ten or so metres into the shelter I turned back and watched the scene as it was framed by trees and stone. I applauded myself for not  freaking out about the change in plans and started mentally planning for our return. Leaving something behind as the rain turned it into something new for our return. 

Hindhope Linn

If for anything else, please go to Northumberland for the waterfalls. I’ve linked my previous encounters with Northumberland waterfalls below. 

I’ve been to four so far and each one holds its own personal charm. 

Today’s one felt particularly special.

Like this post will end up, the walk to Hindhope Linn is short. 

You start your journey in a vehicle of your choice, car, bus, tractor… at Kielder Castle visitor centre. As long as it can handle hills and a bumpy ride you’ll be sorted! It’s a great spot to start from as it has a bank of not too shabby toilets and a pub should you fancy a quick drink. From here you’ll find the 12 mile Forest Drive toll road. There is a cash only toll payment machine as you enter the road, it costs £3. From this road you’ll get an idea of how Forestry England works. It is their road. It is strewn with stones and a fantastic experience

for those wanting sweeping vistas of the pine forest and beyond. This is big sky country for sure. 

At the halfway point and the highest point of the drive you’ll be 1500 metres above sea level and find ‘The Nick’, a stunning marvel of wooden architecture. It invites you in much like a tunnel and leads you to the most stunning view of the landscape you’ve left behind on the ascent. It has a series of pentagons that sporadically twist away from each other with ingenious seating built into its very being. Do not take a picnic, just your best coat, camera and intentions to get beautiful memories and photographs before the wind blows you away. And yes, it is COLD!

Another 5 miles or so down the road and you’ll find a small right hand turn with a toilet block and enough parking for maybe 5 cars. From here follow the trail with the orange markers for approximately 15 minutes. It is a very short trail and at the time of this post, there was a large part of the trail closed due to recent storms and its tall woody victims. Fret not, the walk blesses you with lush paths and dappled shade. We were very fortunate after a morning of rain to feel the sun on our backs as the wet earth underneath gave our feet the cushioning they so desired.

There are a few steep sections on this trail, but as the guide says they are steep and if they caused me any tiredness I did not waver to notice. This place felt really wild and isolated. A bit of me for sure. 

On your right you can hear the rush of water and as you find sloping steps leading down you notice the babbling river beneath you. Turning right to follow another set of stairs you find yourself on the bank of the small stream. Drawing your gaze up to the left, past a small stone half circle acting as a threshold of sorts, you’ll be greeted with the most amazing scene. 

It is green. The plants. The fallen trees. The rocks. All green. As your eyes adjust to the sunshine that seems to envelop this space, like no other scene before, you’ll notice that there is indeed a very beautiful, 20 foot high waterfall. It is gentle in force, but striking in its movement. The water from this beauty has created a space unlike any other I have seen in the world. It is so lush that wherever you look there are carpets of moss. 

I sit for a while and stroke the moss covering a large boulder. It is thick. So thick, my hand disappears into its fluffy texture. There are crowns of ferns that have sprung up in pockets amongst the wood and rocks. They are waving in the breeze. When the sun disappears behind the cloud the whole spot becomes dark and mysterious. It vanishes like magic. And when the sun returns, it shines its light upon the rocks and the plants igniting them back into life. This place is really special. 

It holds a certain mystique. A magic. This gully could be a daydream I have yet to wake up from. As we turn to leave, hundreds upon hundreds of tiny specks are flying, fleeing and falling through this enchanted space. Catching the light they glitter and dance. I imagine them to be fairies and we have found their kingdom. For no place like this can exist for us mere mortals.       

A hop, skip and a fracture.

Man with the big broom

The first time I went abroad I was 5 months old. So for storytelling purposes it is null and void.

But oh, the third time abroad. Well, I was 10 and it was Halkidiki, Greece. My first ever time on a plane. (We were driven to Spain when I was a baby.) It’s funny when I think of the trip I don’t remember the airport. The luggage. The hotel reception. I’ve always thought that I have a weird memory. Ask me who that guy was in that film that one time and I’ll tell you his name, his dog’s name and where he’s from. But ask me about my childhood before the age 11 or 12 and I’m pretty clueless. Maybe when senior school started my brain had to make room and sent in a little man with a big broom and swept most of my childhood memories away!

I remember a lovely evening meal we had. More of the feeling it gave me. It was on an outside terrace with big pagodas on the side of a residential street. The voices were loud. But happy. The streets were musical with the swallows flying overhead. The night was warm in the pathway of the setting sun. All considered I don’t remember being at a table or what I ate, I just remember the huge sense of family and community that I felt. The loveliest part of the memory isn’t what food it was or the view, it was the feeling that has stayed with me all these years.

Thinking about this today has made me realise that you can plan and plan a trip to better your chances to see as much as possible and weaken your anxieties. However you can’t plan for those moments that stick out. That made the whole trip.

In 2019 we rented a villa in Majorca with my dad and his partner. It was planned to be a completely relaxing trip with possible short day trips thrown in. We had meals of simple salads and chicken that everyone had a part in making and serving. Days off were spent by the pool, reading and snoozing. There were a few trips out in the car but mainly it was about a sedentary life with the odd swim and alot of snoozing. And yet in those often viewed as mundane activities the magic happened.

I woke Mr W at 6am one morning and we went up to the rooftop terrace as the sun was coming over the mountains. The whole landscape came alive as the night turned into day. Mr W had complained initially about being woken up. But soon enough we were arm in arm, watching the island wake up. A nearby farm dog started barking, a cockerel crowed and the haze over the fields lifted like a veil.

We took a very brief drive up to Cala San Vicente and had a walk along the small roads that lined the frequent coves. As we approached the top of one road the sea was crashing against the cliffs’ rocks with such force that it sent a huge wall of water droplets 20 or so feet in the air. Being particularly windy here the droplets were caught by the ferocious wind and sent in our direction. It was a brief vacation from the heat of the Spanish sun and it was hysterical. It wasn’t planned. The day trip of course was decided but how do you plan for waves, rocks and wind that work together so succinctly in order to make four people cackle so witch-like? I remember the chill that flooded my body for the briefest of seconds. And the laughter. And the feeling of freedom. That I could jump off that cliff and fly away on the wind and water. It’s something about moments like that that make a trip.

Later that week, Mr W and I introduced Dad and Pat to a drinking game. It involves cards and a lot of drinks. You get drunk very fast. And
gets messy. Was that the plan? No. Did it happen? Yes. But pray tell, can you plan to have someone spit their drink across the table in laughter? Absolutely not. Is it a stand out memory. Abso-freaking-lutely.

I like to think of the beautiful places we are yet to travel to in the world. Of places far and wide on our list. What we’ll see and do. What’s more important lately is how those components become almost secondary memories. It’s the pieces of magic in-between that I treasure.

The time my mum ordered a ‘dirty granny’ cider in Melbourne.

When I cut my brother’s hair in Bulgaria and was doing fine until I had no idea how to frame his face. He was stuck that way for a fortnight.

When Mr W had me splitting firewood on our first camping trip.

When my brothers and I snuck out of our rooms at 2am in Egypt to go swimming. The competitions in the pool and the hilarity that ensued.

If the man in my brain with the broom returns I’d ask him to take out the memories of the Vatican and the Empire state building and leave all the jewels I so treasure.

Feeling hot, hot, hot!

Why, why, why is it so much harder to cope with the summer sun in England than when we travel the world?

Today in the South-East of England temperatures have reached highs of 32°. The hottest day of the year, so far. The news keeps saying so far because a) they love the phrase, the feel of competitiveness and b) we haven’t hit the full stride of summer yet. 

So why is it so hard to keep cool here?

Are our homes built differently?

I know when I visit Spain there is little to no worry about high temperatures. They have cool tiled houses with windows flung open being enough to cool the sweaty brow. Well here, we have an entire tiled bottom floor to our home, and even though it does feel cool, it does little to prevent the heat rising to the floors above. There’s also the fact that the last time we visited Spain we had a huge pool and once you start to feel the heat you can dive in, cool off and emerge refreshed. It’s a lovely cycle that I long for. In 2020, we had an obscenely hot spring and summer so I gave in and bought a pool. Only a big inflatable type thing, 8 feet by 4 feet I seem to remember. It took a month to arrive and I kid you not, the day it arrived on my doorstep, the rain came and the sun was not seen again for over a year. By the time 2021’s sun came around we had one week of it and then nothing once more. Said pool has remained in its box for nearly two years now and it’s only been the last two day’s worth of heat that has been longing to put it up. Forget nights in front of the television, I can see Mr W and I lounging in the pool, music playing and a class of something cool and tasty in hand. Ahhh true bliss!

There are so many times in my travels that stand out as really having felt HOT. So hot you think you are going to self combust, melt and shrivel like a prune all at the same time. 

During a Nile Cruise in 2010, we had some free time from all our excursions and decided to spend a little time on the top deck of the boat in the Egyptian Sun. As you came up the stairs to the lounging area, you came face to face with a bar. A fully stocked bar. Oh yes! We squirrelled away to two loungers at the rear of the boat so we could take in the sights while sailing. When getting drinks, we noticed a thermometer that read 50°. FIFTY! Absolutely insane and unheard of in England for sure. And yet it was manageable. I remember being under dappled shade on the boat, but one week later in a luxury hotel on the Nile I lay in the direct sun and even though it was hot I didn’t feel the creeping suffocation that heat can bring. 

Suffocating heat can be found in the rainforests of Queensland, Australia. We were visiting Patronella Park. The temperature was in the mid thirties. But it was the humidity that found its way to our skin and heads. The park is built from a vision to create gardens surrounding a castle and homes in which José Patronella would live and thrive with his family. It is an absolutely astounding place with sky reaching bamboo, lush planting, a waterfall, fountains and huge expanses of land to roam. I remember the day so clearly. We had arrived in a mist like rain. Soft but strangulating with its heat. I was enjoying the visit. It was like a secret garden for the sub-tropical world. But the humidity was unbearable. Rain in England mean’s water on skin, cooling down, moaning about your washing on the line. This rain meant sweat would be pouring off of your skin, heating up your body and creating a sticky layer of clothing that clung to you. I honestly think it is the most uncomfortable I have ever felt. It is a shame  I look back on that day wishing I had ignored the clinging of the weather. Patronella Park is stunning and should I return I will prepare better. There is something to be said though, that the lushness of the gardens would not be without the warm, wet conditions. 

A week later in Uluru, I found a different kind of heat. Dry! At 45° it was crazy to feel more comfortable than in Queensland. It was hot for sure, but an air conditioned coach or taking a moment in the shade was all the relief I needed. For the first time since arriving in Australia two weeks prior,  we found an afternoon to sit and relax. Our accommodation had a pool and shade. It was definitely time to stop. Much needed! The pool was small, with only 8-10 loungers surrounding it and there was a huge water dispenser, the kind you usually see in offices, just behind my bed. Paradise! Out of nowhere a humongous gust of wind swept across us, upending loungers with their towels into the pool. The wind felt as though someone had turned on a hair dryer. The intense heat was over as fast as it had arrived. In England, the wind usually means cool relief. There it brought only more temperature. I still don’t know how you would prepare to challenge that kind of weather. I guess it would have served me better to jump in the pool. To emerse myself in the cool water. 

Maybe water is the cure, Spain certainly has it right. In fact, José Patronella built his park around Mena creek with its cascading waterfall and flowing river. His Spanish mind knew the cooling waters would be key to keeping sane in the Queensland temperatures. We found sanctuary from the heat in the afternoon rains in the Dominican Republic. The temperature was not too hot in relation to Australia and Egypt, but it was definitely a sweaty heat. It clung to you. It makes body lotion sit on your skin and not be absorbed. Looking back on photos, I have a constant sheen on my face. Beautiful! It was easy to avoid the rains when at the hotel, a quick sprint from the pool to the covered restaurants or back to the air conditioned rooms was all it took. However, one afternoon, we decided to go to a local bar for food. It was made of dark wood and glass with a huge fish tank in the middle. It was a cooling place. A real bolthole from the weather. From heat and rain. Looking outside it was as though all the water on this green earth had started leaking from the sky. The landscape had blurred with his downpour. And then the leak was patched. Gone as if nothing had happened. It was a 15 minute walk back to the hotel and the sky was formidable. The grey clouds above, pushed the humidity down on us mere earthlings and were steaming us slowly. We came to the edge of a pathway at one of the very deep curbs you will find in the Caribbean. The roads had become temporary rivers from the recent downpour while the pavements promoted security from above. It was only when a splashing game erupted between us that we realised its true potential. Fun and refreshing. It was only when we walked through the hotel’s entrance and everyone turned to stare that I noticed that there were leaves and specks of dirt over our bodies. A present from the puddles that had proven their worth tenfold. 

So there we have it, water! It can both be a curse with its hot clinging nature and a giver of life. A cooler, refreshed life. In the most recent years where heat is absorbed by our bedroom carpet and in turn, turns the room into an oven we have taken to setting up a floor fan, having a late night cold shower, rushing to stand in front of the fan and letting it freeze the water droplets on our skin. Last night I lay in the dark feeling the familiar lethargy of the English summer. The ceiling fan wasn’t doing much to help and we hadn’t yet got the floor fan out of his lofty prison. Mr W turned to me in the darkness and said ‘Don’t you have a spray bottle up here?’ Why, yes I do. It is for the succulents I have. I asked him why, ‘Well,’ he said, ‘why don’t you spray it up above us and the fan will do the rest.’

Game. Changer!

For 10 minutes I sent the mist up to the dark ceiling and felt the cooling embrace of the water as it fell. Absolute bliss! When Mr W returned home from work, we fled to the bedroom once more and continued misting the room. The relief was instantaneous. Obviously, once cooled there was a tug of war over the spray bottle, itchy trigger fingers and much laughter. 

If I’ve learned anything from looking back at the experiences of extreme heat on my travels, it is to make the best of an uncomfortable situation. Much like the phrase, ‘learn to dance in the rain’, I think to complain is fruitless, we need to jump into the pool, puddles and cold showers. Make the most of it. Laugh and enjoy. 

Whale of a time

One thing you need to know about me before this short tale is: I’m petrified of ice. Not ice cubes in my drink or the feeling of being cold. But ice on the ground. Ice I have to cross. Ice under my feet. If Disney ever re-made Bambi and before his first experience on the icy pond he drank a bottle of rum I’d be perfect for the casting call. I’m not sure if clumsy is the word. It’s the fact I don’t trust it and therefore my ability to walk well fails. I’ve had two nasty falls on icy pavements, one ending up in hospital, and I’ve never regained my confidence. 

Here starts my story.

In late 2015, Mr W and I were closing in on buying our first home. We had a New York trip coming up and yet felt the absolute need to book a trip for Spring 2016. Why not? It’s not like we needed the money. Or at that precise time we would be signing paperwork for said new home. I think, ultimately, it was our last trip before sh*t got real! 

As ever, I hunted down the best possible deal and booked half the trip including one excursion, hotel and flights with Icelandair and then other excursions via Viator including airport transfers. I seem to remember the pre-booking costs came to roughly £800 per person. 

March came around weekly and we hopped on the flight. We had so much leg room on the flight that it felt like the lap of luxury. We were seated in the seats just inside the airplane door, which meant other than the stewardess sitting in front of us, we had room to stretch our legs straight out. Just amazing. Especially for Mr W,he is 6ft+ and really struggles on planes. Above us the cabin lights were soft pinks, blues and greens. It was an amazing mimic of the northern lights. 

The flight from London to Reykjavik was short and sweet and it made for the smoothest flight I’d known. That is,until we landed. As we were taxiing along the runway, the plane turned so we could pull in at the terminal. There came an almighty juddering sensation and if the look on the seated stewardess’s face was anything to go by, this was not normal. Voices from the rear seats told us that our plane’s wing had hit another plane’s tail-end. With a quick nervous smile, the stewardess was called into action and the plane started reversing. It was over within minutes, but it’s definitely a birthday story I enjoy repeating to this day. Yep, it was my birthday!

The journey from the airport to our hotel was met with grey skies and a very soft falling of snow. I’m going to admit now, my heart sunk, this girl didn’t think about the land of fire and ice and the implications of the weather! Silly me. The snow was very light and it soon went unnoticed as the Icelandic landscape came into view. The fields of volcanic rock with their odd mossy patches amongst the ragged terrain was like nothing else we both had ever seen. I felt as if we had landed on another planet. How is this place 3 hours from London?

It continued to snow as we arrived at our hotel. With the grey skies it was hard to make out the snow. With our bodies enveloped in so many layers it was hard to feel the icy weather that the snow was promoting. The odd snowflake landed on the tip of my nose as my eyes darted around the Old Harbour. I could see the boats that we would travel on while here and the navy blue waters they sat in. Wow. This place! 

Night crept in as we relaxed in our hotel and our 10pm sail approached quickly. 3 pairs of socks, leggings, trousers, a couple of jumpers, a fluffy gilet, scarf and thick winter coat and this michelin man was ready for the Icelandic night-time. 

That is, until I stepped outside. The pavements were slick with ice from the earlier snow and sleet. It was clearly going to be a night filled with fear. Clinging with an iron grip to Mr W’s arm we waddled to the moored up boat. Leading to the boat was a long, heavily iced (think an extremely thickly iced cupcake) ramp to slip and slide down. It took MR W and another two sailor types to coax me down to the floating jetty. The fear was very real. Once aboard, and I say once aboard with the memory in mind that it took me at least 20 minutes to navigate the 100 metres from door to boat, I fixed my arse in place on the top deck of the boat. How did I fix my arse I hear you ask? Well the sleet and snow from earlier had settled on the chairs and was now firmly freezing between the chair and my trousers. It was cold but it was static. I like static when it comes to icy conditions! 

The boat heads out into the dark night, bouncing over the navy waves to escape the light pollution of the city. It’s cold enough to have our breath exposed in front of our faces but the lack of light needed for our adventures means we cannot see the icy vapour. We are moving for over 30 minutes until the boat stops. There are some clouds but other than that the night is clear. All we need to do now is wait. The night is still. Everything and everyone is quiet. Cameras are ready and waiting in frozen hands. The stage is set. 

As if blown from a cigarette a wisp of smoke like movement streaks across the sky. It is faint but most definitely green. It bends and twists in the night sky. Rippling like oil on water. It dances in the inky sky and all frozen fingers move rapidly to catch it forever with a click. The colours aren’t as strong as I imagine they would be and when I look later my camera has picked up the colour much clearer. It seems the human eye is not to be relied on in these circumstances. The pale green I see above me is almost neon on my camera. It is both strange and amazing. Mr W and I swear to come back to Iceland again just to spend more time with the Northern Lights. We treat this as a taster session in which we have had a nibble. The next bite will be much bigger. We’ll make sure of it. 

As fast as they appeared they fled the night sky and all passengers on board headed to the covered seating area inside. Here the seats were not fixed in place, in fact they were the white plastic garden chairs popular at BBQs around the world, and every wave the boat hit sent all of us flailing around. As we continued on our way the waves became more violent and we were quite literally thrown from window to wall. It was easier to sit on the floor and clamp my arms around the handrails. By 1am we were back at our hotel and ready for sleep. 

The next morning the biggest reason we came to this mysterious country would begin. 

Waking early to blue skies was a relief for the day’s activities. But first. Breakfast! It wasn’t included in our booking so we had to pay for the buffet style offering. Now, I’m not a big breakfast person, but with the long day ahead I know I need to eat. We charge the £16 per person breakfast charge to our room and head on in. The breakfast room arches around the buffet in a semicircle with lovely high windows that look out over the old harbour. 

Mr W cannot believe his eyes. The food here is unlike any other buffet we’ve encountered. There are boiled eggs, granola, bread, skyr yogurts, cheeses, meats and… boiled potatoes, salads and tuna mayonnaise. Hand down one of the most impressive and eclectic breakfast spreads I’ve ever seen. We fill our boots and head to the harbour. 

It is a simple 5 minute walk which is glorious in the morning light. Today’s boat is different from last night’s, although in the daytime light I can’t be sure. It floats, that’s all that concerns me. 

Something I’ve noticed in our brief time here is how very, very friendly the local people are. They say hello and ask how you are and then wait for you to respond. Friendly, polite and as we are about to find out, exceptionally passionate about their country and it’s finned visitors. 

We set off on the rolling waves again, this time chasing the sun. We want the best views for today and the top deck calls us once again. Last night’s sleet and snow has frozen solid and appears like its own rocky landscape. My fear returns. These boots are wonderful for ankle support but not so much on Bambi’s feet on an icy pond. One hand gripping Mr W’s and the other on the handrail, I make it upstairs. 

The sea is the deepest of blues and the sun is taking the bite out of the wind. All the same I am glad for my many layers. Today is a big event. A lifelong dream. We move away from the harbour and leave Reykjavik behind for the second time in 12 hours. There is a morning haze that sits on the horizon but otherwise last night’s clouds have moved on. 

Underfoot is icy but my heart doesn’t notice as the first call is heard. ‘Whale ahead.’ We rush across the deck in anticipation and there they are. Not just one. Not just two. A whole pod of Orca. I cannot believe it. As the tears stream out of my eyes I swear they freeze on my smiling cheeks. Their appearance as they glide up and out of the water makes my breath catch in my throat. After years of waiting I’m actually witnessing this. Right here. I can see the water undulate down their bodies as they arc their bodies to enter the waves again and again. They are moving fast and yet all so slowly all at the same time. I have forgotten to breathe.

When I booked this tour, it came with a disclaimer. Should we not see any whales, we would be invited back another day to try again. With time so sparse on this trip, it was now or never. It was also advised that there were no guarantees to which wildlife we would see. 

Puffins, seabirds. Possible. 

Minke whales. Likely. 

Humpbacks. Maybe. 

Orca. Once in a while. 

Here was that while. Before us. 5 or 6, at least, swimming as though in a murmuration. So graceful and powerful in the water. I urge the captain to stay on their trail as my eyes are transfixed. From here their black and white bodies seem grey and blue in the sun’s reflective light. It cascades down their bodies, no competitor for their strength. They sliced through the water like a blade through warm butter. I know this is a moment I will never forget in my entire life. My cheeks hurt with their salty dew and everlasting smile. Before we know it the pod has moved on. I stand in awe of being a witness to them and this place. 

‘We have a Humpback whale!’, everybody gasps as a large body breaks the surface of the navy waters. In comparison to the Orca this is a big beast and yet its fin is tiny. Its body blends in with the colours of the waters it rises out of until its large fluke with patches of white breaks the surface. We hope it is not diving deep as we are already addicted to its sight. We are gifted again with its presence and tears, once again, spring from my eyes. This cannot be real. This whale does not stay long and I know I want to do this again. Be here, living out a dream of over 25 years and chasing the next.

Beside us in the distance are snow capped mountains and I am once again reminded that this place is oh so foreign to me. Throughout my extensive travelling I have not witnessed a place like this. I am exceptionally lucky to be here. There is more to come on this adventure and I am here for it. 

The ice under my feet has not yet melted and I smile as I look down. My fear was blasted away once the call came across the tannoy. I ran back and forth across the deck without a second thought. No slips. No trips. And no hesitation. This Bambi just needed her whale friend to break the surface. 

The tears dry on my face as I hear ‘Oh my GOD! We have a Fin Whale straight ahead.’

Thirty faux Birthday

34 years old hit me like a tonne of bricks this year. As the last two birthdays were spent in lockdown I didn’t have much to do with numbers or the age related conversations. It would have been nice if we had all got together and agreed that as the last two years most celebrations were put on hold, an age delay would be appropriate. 32 sounds much better than 34 in my opinion. Especially as it wasn’t acknowledged the first time around. 

It was up to Mr W to plan my birthday this year and it was time to travel again. It was simpler for all concerned to keep in the Uk and there’s a big ol’ list of things for us to see that we really should be cracking on with. 

High up on that list, for quite some time, has been Durdle Door. The plan was set and from our accommodation we set out for the coast. It was 6:53am to be precise as we clambered into the car, to be precise, and I am not a morning person. Or wasn’t a morning person before I met Mr W. It has taken a long while for me to adjust to his ‘up early’ mantra and I dare say I still struggle now and again, but when it works logically I’m pretty good at jumping on board. A vanilla soy latte will most certainly sweeten the deal. 

The sun in the sky was already warm and I thanked my lucky stars that the day was looking clear and blue. March is always so unpredictable and usually you can shrug it off. But while on a cliff? I think not!

We arrived at the Durdle Door car park at a little after 8:15am and I once again found myself in awe of the sea. With the fresh morning sun beating down upon its surface it glittered in such a way that fixed me to the spot. It’s an image that will never grow old. It was quickly apparent that we were very high above sea level. We could not see any waves breaking. Just how far from the car would we find the infamous site? 

We hoisted our behinds into the boot of Mr W’s new SUV hybrid and changed our footwear into something more sturdy. With the sun bearing down on us I felt silly donning a coat, jumper, hiking boots and a woolly hat but what is life if not a little silly. The car park was all but deserted and I took a moment to drink in the birdsong. I felt a million miles away from England. I’ll never truly believe that places like the Jurassic coast actually belong to the UK. The turquoise waters surely belong somewhere else. 

Hopping out of the car, we donned our backpacks and headed down the shingle pathway. Oh wow, this first part of the walk was quite steep, and with loose shingles underfoot, my semi conscious brain was not working in line with my body. What’s interesting about the wander down the cliff front is it gives nothing away. No far off view of the famous door itself. And then BAM, there it is, below you. 

You reach the end of the well-trodden path and arrive at the top of some pretty precarious looking stairs. To the left of this is Man O’War Beach which overlooks one of the most beautiful coves I’ve ever had the privilege of seeing. The horseshoe shape allows the very edges of the sand meeting the water to glow in its most fantastic turquoise colour whilst the sun practically blurs out the sea in its midst. The whole scene just glowed in such a spectacular fashion that the reason we had come here was all but forgotten. 

But it wasn’t, there were stairs to be introduced to. Time for the brain to engage with the legs on this one. Sturdy enough the stairs weren’t the issue, but looking down was. I am not scared of heights. I am not scared of heights. I really am not scared of heights, but it would seem, little to no handrail, morning legs and so much to keep turning to see equals the oh my goodness feeling of I’m going to die!

Reaching the bottom felt amazing, I pushed away the thought of the ascend later on, and marched out onto a shingle beach. Shingle so deep that I was quite literally ankle deep in places. Fear not, I think, continue on, for soon you will be sitting and staring and loving the view. Across the beach I trek until I find my own little mountain of pebbles to lay my coat. I think, stupidly, that it has taken me 34 years to get here, so a little thing like cold water shouldnt stop me from letting my feet have their moment in the sea. I release them from their boots and socks and stand on the shingle. Ouch! I stagger forward into the water only to rapidly sink. What is happening? I’m losing height. I can’t move. The water is moving the stones around my feet and I’m ankle deep. And it is freezing! Mr W to the rescue.  

I am yanked out of my trap and plonked on to my waiting coat. My feet are sunburn red and I cannot feel my toes. That was clever. I sit in the rising sun willing it to thaw my feet and I take in the scene. Durdle door is in shadow. The sun has not yet cast its light upon it and yet I find it doesn’t need the sun to highlight its already striking presence. It is magnificent. It rises from the water and frames the horizon beyond it. I feel as though if I could reach the door, I’d find it a gateway to another world. I could be transported to anywhere I wish as long as I made the leap and trusted it. 

The sea is gently lapping against the pebbles of doom and I am lost in its persistence. The water is so clear here. Beautiful. 

A kestrel flies past and breaks me from my reverie. He is flying over the cliffs and lands on the monument itself. He has chosen to nest in one of the most famous landmarks in the world. I’m unsure I would choose it as a place to live myself, all he can see from up there is me and the beach. Wouldn’t it be better to live on the cliff and overlook this spectacle? 

It is not long before the time to leave is upon us, feet dry and shoved back into their cotton prison, we head away from the lapping waves. The hour we have spent on the shoreline has seen a great change into the once deserted beach. People are arriving by the camper van load and our moment alone has passed. We reach the bottom of the stairs and take a moment to turn and face Mr Durdle. From here it feels as though you could reach out and touch it. It is huge in stature and looms over the space entirely. We are in his shadow and its company. It feels intimate and secretive. It takes a while for me to turn away. 

Up, up, up we climb. Admitting, again, that we’ve been outwitted by the typical tourist spot. It’s up in the must-do lists for a reason. And if you will drag your sorry ass out of bed early enough, you’ll have it all to yourself. You, the sea and the sun.  

7 billion reasons

One of the very first memories I have of travelling is looking out at the landscape of Europe from the plane window. I was flying to Greece. I was 10 years old. I had never seen something so beautiful before. Mountain pathways strewn through rocky scenes like arteries and pockets of forests dotted around as if dropped by the heavens above. Every time I have flown since, I try to wrangle the window seat. Ignoring the fact I am too shy to make small talk with strangers and don’t like to invade or have anyone invade my personal space, HELLO ANXIETY! I secretly covet this window into a world where you can see a scene that cannot be replicated. Each time you fly over the world it changes depending on season, time or frame of mind. The colours, the feelings, the awe. It has soothed me in times of great anxiousness and taken me out of my body to the pathways below. At times I feel like I am a fly on the wall of the tiny villages scattered below. How do those people live? Do they have worries like me? Are our worries different entirely?

The villages are so tiny, and accessed by the smallest of roads and highest of mountains, where do they go for their food? What happens if they fall ill? Does that make the worries I have trivial to these people?  

There is something about soaring above the world that makes me calm enough to let go of my worries, it opens up my eyes to the 7 billion people on the planet and the simple fact that I can’t be the only person with worries and anxieties. That in itself makes me realise I can handle it, because everyone else is. With love, friendship and a step outside my own anxieties once in a while. A lot of the time anxiety is described as being something you ‘suffer’ but it often strikes me that by changing our mindset to anxiety being something we ‘live with’ means we take control. We can stumble along our own mountain roads without too much fear and become used to the steep drops that appear along the way.

To the moon my friend. Imagine how much our eyes would see from there!

This is a relaunch of Framework Travel. A relaunch of who I can be. Who I want to be. What this blog can do to reach, help and inspire people.

Recently my anxiety has taken over my life. And something needs to change. More than ever I’ve felt my flight or fight kick in and for the first time ever I can’t fly. I can’t look down from that window and ignore my issues. The only thing I can do is come at it from a different perspective. If not from above, from within. 

So along with my very skilled photographer husband, we are relaunching Framework Travel as something personal, in which we will discuss our anxieties over covid, struggles with our health and fitness, fertility matters and ALOT of travel. 

We have in the last 18 months experienced a whole other way of travelling. And this year will involve more of that. We’ve embraced sustainable practices even more recently in and outside our home, and will be incorporating as much of this into our future travels. First up is a long weekend break in Northumberland in June, somewhere we’ve been twice before (both in 2021), but absolutely adore! Next up, *breathe* is a 16 day trip to the Scottish highlands along the NC500. We will be driving the entire route in our hybrid car and seeing how far we can stretch the almighty english pound. This will include extreme budgeting when it comes to accommodation, food and activities. With a very few luxuries thrown in for good measure, we are celebrating our wedding anniversary after all, we will be sharing everything we do and spend with you. Including what we pack! 

There are over 7 billion people in this world and if I can inspire and help others, my anxieties will seemingly melt away. I’ll be able to climb those mountains and traverse the highest, steepest paths home and maybe someone, up in the clouds, watching out of their plane window will feel some kind of respite from their own demons.