Tag: travel

Christmas wanderings in London

The sky is icy blue. It’s bright and sunny. But when the breeze comes and it does, it cuts you across the face with a freezing swipe, fast and cutting.

It is Sunday 28th November 2021 and this is our first visit to London since 2019. The pandemic halted us in our tracks and jumping on a train where once so easy is now fraught with anxieties.

Traditionally we try to come into London at Christmas to see lights, lights, lights! Today we have lots of walking to do and even more morsels to cram into our waiting mouths. Our chattering teeth can be put to use! We’ve done the South Bank Christmas market and have found it less and less charming as the years pass. The Hyde Park Winter Wonderland is great for families but we need something a tad… well a lot more authentic and less in your face. We want to take it easy and see what happens today. We’ve been coming into town for 8 years, barring the 2020 Christmas lockdown, and we are excited to be returning.

Our first stop is Covent Garden. Seven Dials to be exact. I do love cobbled streets and the decorations this year are simple and delicate. A halo of white branches, neé twigs, are suspended high above the Seven Dials roundabout with pale blue, pink and gold baubles dotted around.

We wander to Chinatown, it’s my day to surprise Mr W, and despite both of us working in, visiting and living in London on and off throughout our lives we’ve never been. Red and gold Chinese lanterns criss cross across the street and I am mesmerised by the vibrancy of the red against the winter sky. We are early and find ourselves two of only a few people here. Most restaurants open at 12pm. There are no smells yet to tempt us in. We take an unbelievably small detour to Leicester Square to kill time and find it full of the ol’ hustle and bustle that covid has made me so anxious of. The tourist traps of the M&M and Lego stores offer no real appeal to us and yet queues have formed from the doors down the street. I’m so used to travelling abroad to tourist traps that I often forget we live adjacent to one of the most visited capital cities on the planet. We certainly take London for granted in this respect. It’s days like these that open our eyes to all that is on offer.

We briefly walk around the Christmas stalls in Leicester Square, glance up at the Capital FM windows and pause at the infamous cinemas that host premieres and red carpet events.

It is minutes away from midday and we are practically salivating at treats waiting behind the closed doors of Chinatown. Our first stop is at Bun House. Freshly steamed buns with various fillings to take away in a folded up cardboard box with chopsticks used as the handle. It is £10 for four buns. Chicken, pig, beef and lamb for us. The menu is on the door and we are second in line waiting for the click of the door being unlocked.

Hello! Feed me please! Our order is paid for and oh my the room is full of steam. The amount of bamboo steamers is crazy and I am excited with a capital ooooo!

We smuggle our purchases like thieves in the night to a small metal bench in the heart of Chinatown. Each bun has been branded with a red symbol on top. What it says we do not know. What it matters… we do not know. With great interest we slowly hold the bun in hand and bend it down so it opens softly revealing the filling inside. We each have a half. And groan with the deliciousness. Must have another bite! But if we do, that’s one less note left. Surely by finishing it, there are no more bites, but if we take no more bites we can’t enjoy the beautiful bun! The conundrum is very real. And before long all buns are gone and Mr W’s face is passive. He won’t yet let on how much he enjoyed that. He is a sly one.

Time for something sweet!

There is a plan to follow and yet as I walk past a serving hatch I-Spy a very tiny fish. The sign above the door says Chinatown Bakery and I want to know about the cuties on offer. They are Taiyaki and are made of soft waffle dough and are filled with custard. Served fresh and hot in a paper bag I am again struck at how tourist-like I feel in our home country. We buy four and have to wander for a while to allow them to cool. Before long temptation takes over cautiousness and we break open the delight to reveal the gooeyness inside. It is piping hot and silky smooth. The groaning comes back. It is simple and yet absolutely delicious. We have really let ourselves down by neglecting this place for so long.

We make a promise there and then to return and wander around London more often.

For now, it is onwards with our plans for the day…

Final frolics in Florence

It is our 3rd wedding anniversary. And Florence is bathing in sunlight and blue skies. The day has started slowly and the smiles on our faces tell us that today, slowly will work best. 

From the Piazza della Repubblica we take the short 3 minute walk to the Piazza del Mercato Nuovo to see the bronze boar of Florence. Il Porcellino stands along the edge of today’s market, tearing my eyes away from the amazing smelling leather bags. I await my turn at the statue. It stands nearly taller than me and its nose is bright and shiny. It is said that should you wish to return to Florence you will find luck in doing so if you give the boar’s nose a good rub. Mr W asks if I want to return, I hesitate wondering if Florence has enough to tempt me back, and then my hand reaches up and grips the metal snout. Rub. Rub. Rub. Yes, I dare say it’s a good guess I’d like to return to this city. There are wonders I think I have missed this time. Even if it means wandering the streets and enjoying the coffee there is something about this city that is speaking to me. Il Porcellino is not alone, he sits amongst leaves and tiny bronze frogs. The details remind me just how beautiful Italy is.  

The footfall at the market is building and it’s time to move on. Our wander takes us across the Ponte Vecchio, a bustling bridge lined with shops. We i-spy the Arno river below, its slow flowing pace sets the precedent for the day, the sun bounces off its surface and makes it glow. 

The hot drinks from this morning’s visit to the Caffe La Terrazza are wearing off, we need more Italian treats and we find them at Gino’s Bakery. Cannoli! The bakery has a serving hatch on the street with a window showcasing the mouthwatering treats for all of the city to see. Pizza slices, paninis encasing the meats and cheeses of the country and arancini with its tasty hidden filling. There are beautifully crisp sfogliatelle dusted with icing sugar, muffins standing tall in their cases, glazed desserts, biscotti dotted with nuts and a coffee machine whirring in the background. And there they are. Sitting in rows upon rows of delicate deliciousness. Straight soldiers of rolled, bubbled pastry filled with sweetened ricotta cheese laying in wait to be picked. There are different colours depending on which topping the cannoli has been dipped into. Each one carries different textures of chopped hazelnuts or pistachios and my favourite, tiny chocolate chips. A bag for our purchases is not needed, the delights are quickly eaten right there on the street with murmurings of mmmmm’s and ahhh’s. 

Our next stop is only a 5 minute walk away and it turns out it’s lunchtime! We’ve managed to have our dessert first. Oops! It is time for my first pizza of the trip. Gustapizza on Via Maggio is a tiny corner restaurant with three tables inside. The tables are very tall wooden barrels with glass tops, my 5’5 body hops up onto the towering stools as Mr W peruses the menu. There are 7 pizza’s total. I often find that the smaller the menu, the better the taste. Let’s see how this place matches up. Mr W orders the Gustapizza, it has cherry tomatoes, buffalo mozzarella, extra virgin olive oil and basil and when it comes it is a sea of red and green. The pizza is enormous and Mr W looks at me wide-eyed. ‘How do I eat all of this?’ he remarks. I’m too busy watching my pizza being made to offer any advice. The kitchen is right next to us, open to spectators and there are three men working as a team to create orders. The first man is stretching out the dough just one metre away. He glances up, smiling knowingly, he is confident in his work, he knows this food makes people happy. Toppings of tomato, mozzarella, spicy salami and basil are thrown together on the dough by the second guy and a wooden paddle whips away my pizza to the flame-ridden oven by a third. A short time later my pizza emerges and is placed in front of me. My mouth gapes open. This pizza is a monster! There is a fourth man wandering around welcoming new patrons, they look at the pizzas on our table and make their minds up. They sit having decided this is the place to eat today. My focus is stolen back by the glistening piping hot cheese in front of me. The meat has curled slightly at the edges and the crust has charred in places, the pizza oven’s heat has kissed the ingredients with its flames. The first bite cannot be believed, but the first slice is out of this world. No pizza back in the Uk can top this. The creamy cheese cuts through the saltiness of the meat and the basil gives it the sweet kick to tie it up in one big Italian bow. It is hands down the best pizza I have ever had the pleasure of eating. All of a sudden I remember I am not alone. I look across at Mr W. He is sitting in wide-eyed silence. His mouth is chewing but his eyes are drinking it all in. I feel a swell of pride that my research has paid off. He looks at me and nodds smacking his lips. It becomes apparent after a while that there is no way we can finish our pizzas. As if knowing thas, the fourth man brings us an empty pizza box. I am glad of the courtesy and also that in an hour from now, we will be able to again tackle the pizza in the open air of the Boboli Gardens. We pay for our pizzas and drinks and head into the ever present Italian sunshine. I remind myself we are lucky to have such beautiful weather in early autumn.

The Boboli Gardens are found inside the entrance of the Pitti Palace, after some confusion over our vouchers at the ticket office we are ushered to the security queue. Before we reach the entrance we are stopped by a scary looking art installation. Huge, lifelike iron statues of wolves are barring our way. The pack of wolves are standing in various places before the palace gates. Terrifying though they look, they are still and such a surprise that it takes a moment to walk on by. Mr W pretends that one has locked its jaws around our prized pizza box and stops for a quick photo montage. With just one handbag and the treasured delicacy in hand we know we’ll be whisked through quickly. There is a small family ahead of us, mum, dad and two small children. They have a big pram jammed with the necessaries for a family day out. Bags, food and coats are stuffed here and there. It takes them a while to move through the security scanner. We are standing in what looks like a grand courtyard surrounded by an arched walkway and I spy toilets up ahead. The absolute joy of the city break is finding a toilet you need not pay for. The two security guards usher us through easily until they ask what’s in the box. I answer with a smile that the box with a pizza drawn onto its lid does indeed hold pizza, he wags his finger ‘No’ and points to a bin. My inner obedient child wants to adhere to this crazy rule, of which there are no posters or guides to explain why food is forbidden, but my happy adult stomach is having a hard time letting go. I ask why, and again am witness to the waggle of the finger and that same finger pointing at the bin. With a deep sigh, I realise there is no way we could wolf the half a pizza that awaits both of us and Mr W drops it into the trash can. We turn away actually quite heartbroken and head on through. 

The day has taken a turn we did not expect, I had looked while planning if a picnic in the Giardino Boboli was possible and there were copious amounts of information suggesting this was the norm for a visit. Did I get something wrong? Were the security guards fishing our boxed deliciousness out of the shallow bin? Ha-ha I joke. Sort of. Mostly. Buggers.

Toilet found and used. We head towards the Anfiteatro di Boboli with its wide open space and Obelisk at its centre. I am yet to shake off the pizza incident. The sky is bluer than blue and here it feels like covid is a million miles away, but something isn’t connecting with us. We continue on through the park until we find the Vasca del Nettuno, the Fountain of Neptune in the Fontana della Signoria. It is pretty. But rather than enjoying the moment we are both wondering why we aren’t. It becomes pretty clear that museums, even open air ones with its impressive statues and Egyptian gifts aren’t quite our thing on this trip. We’ve been steeping ourselves so much into the culture here that we’ve swayed far from the tourist trail and finding our way back to it is hard. I believe if we’d invested in a guidebook we could enjoy the pockets of history in this place. Which only means one thing, a return trip! Oh dear, only if we have to!

We aim to head to the very top of Giardini Boboli to the Palazzina e Bastione del Cavaliere to make an exit and quickly cross over to the Giardini Bardini. But the exit here is closed. We check our handy paper map and find another exit at Forte Belvedere. The walk around the walled garden is in shadow and is pleasant in the afternoon sun. The trees provide the ground with a dappled shade that is both beautiful and refreshing. The next exit is also closed. What is going on?

We skirt the edge of the gardens right down to the security entrance and emerge onto Viale della Meridiana. It is a 10 minute walk in the opposite direction to Villa Bardini, the entrance to Giardino Bardini. To salvage our last afternoon in the city I urge Mr W’s tired feet onwards. The 10 minute walk takes twice as long due to the enormous hill that is the Costa San Giorgio, a back street of Florence that is the quickest yet steepest hill we’ve encountered yet. Again, what is going on? 

We are in a neighbourhood of Florence that is quiet and empty of tourists, it feels like we are trespassing. Upon reaching Giardino Bardini we are greeted with meticulously kept greenery and perfected planting. The gardens themselves are on the side of the hill we have presumably just climbed. They are spread out on different levels, each high above the Arno river and the city laid out below. From here the Duomo is tiny. Wedged between the Pitti Palace and the Piazzale Michelangelo, Giardino Bardini is a revelation. The large open spaces of the Boboli Gardens are long gone and the small intimate gardens here welcome us in their embrace. We find a bench outside La Loggetta di Villa Bardini. A large expanse of gravel leads up to a stone balustrade which gives way to a beautiful view of Florence and the mountains that stand by in a protective stance. We spend a long time sitting, stroking the resident cat and savouring the afternoon sun. Tomorrow we move onto Venice. The time here has flown.  

Forced to follow the daylight and keep on track for our evening plans, we leave the bench behind and wander down the zig-zagging path down through the gardens. There is a long sloped walkway with wisteria hanging from a pergola. At this time of year it is dense and green, the original plan was to come in April and be lucky enough to see a canopy of purple above us. Covid stopped that happening, I remind myself this is just another reason to return to this place. It seems as though we have unfinished business in Florence!

Our walk takes us past lines of hedges, rows of roses and past a vast staircase that ascends the hill to the terrace where we found the bench. This place has transformed our afternoon. It has forced us to slow down. To enjoy the smaller things we usually take for granted. We need to head back to our apartment to freshen up before our anniversary dinner. Our route back takes us over the Ponte Vecchio and the streets are busy in the evening sun. 

A quick shower and outfit change and I rush Mr W out the door. He thinks we are late and we head to the restaurant next to our apartment. This evening is a surprise for him and as he realises where we are he smiles. The secret has been worth it for that smile. His smile is my gift. The Hard Rock Cafe is somewhere we visit on our travels as a cheesy little tradition. Mr W collects the t-shirts and it’s something we’ve done since 2014. It may not be authentic Italian food, but it’s authentic to our relationship, and I love it. 

We are greeted by two proseccos ‘on the house’, they’ve been told it’s our anniversary and we settle in for the night. We order another boozy drink each and share a starter. The music is just to our taste and we are the first customers of the night. We are sat near the large stage, where a drum kit sits and take a moment to look at all the memorabilia on display. Mr W sips his long island iced tea, as I neck my prosecco and move onto my cosmopolitan. Our mains arrive and I can feel the alcohol taking effect. It’s clear very quickly that we are relaxed and in fact drunk. We say no to dessert, find a t-shirt to Mr W’s tastes and head out into the night. The darkness shrouds the city as we wander again to the Duomo, we are drawn to its presence. We have a small dessert from Venchi Cioccolato e Gelato, mesmerised by its flowing wall of chocolate and stagger slightly back to our apartment via Piazza della Repubblica. 

There is music bringing the night to life and restaurants with their tables spilling out onto the streets. I am reminded again how life has changed in the last six months. How covid has ravaged this country and the world. I finish my ice cream and thank my lucky stars, Mr W and hope to return soon. Florence, you have entranced me. For now we head to Venice! 

https://frameworktravel.home.blog/2022/05/06/stories-of-venice-part-one/

https://frameworktravel.home.blog/2022/05/07/stories-of-venice-part-two/

https://frameworktravel.home.blog/2022/05/10/stories-of-venice-part-three/

Hot chocolate in the clouds

The Duomo calls!

We wake early to wander in the deep set shadows of this monolith in central Florence. There are very few people around and we are exceptionally early for its 10am opening. Entrance is free and I anticipate a crowd, but first, we need coffee. 

 A small restaurant is open in the shadows of the Duomo and with outdoor seating we are drawn to it like a moth to a flame. The piazza has that early morning eerie feeling and my excitement is building. In little under an hour we will be walking through the doors of one of the most incredible buildings I have ever seen. The sun is rising higher in the sky as our coffee is brought out in an actual mug! You know the ones I mean, the kind that adorns the souvenir shops shelves and this one has the building in front of me on it. I’m so used to the typical white coffee cups out here I’m taken aback and reminded of my mum who takes her own mugs when travelling because the cups normally supplied are too small! But not this one. Gazing up at the Duomo slowly being unearthed from the shadows, I take a deep glug of coffee. Oh, this is good. The drink. The view. The atmosphere of this place. It’s like I’m sitting at the base of a mountain looking up and every single square metre is different. The light and shadows are dancing around each other. 

It reminds me of my walk around Ayers Rock in Uluru. It started at 4am, something that back in 2013, I could never fathom, the day had not even begun. The hotel and the world outside was still asleep. The coach drove through the silent outback to the dark mass in the distance. We stopped in completely black scenery. The 12km trek began as the inky black night was turning a lighter shade of indigo. The magnificent rock transformed each and every minute that the rising sun moved from the horizon. Black rock became deep browns and blushing reds before the light hit the stone and turned it the same colour as the ground we walked on. The terracotta reds mingled with the ambers and burnt oranges. Ayers Rock, Uluru, had jumped into life before us. 

Out of the shadows before us, the Duomo shines, arriving into the new day. The coffee is the secondary star of the show, and my last gulp of it is drunk lukewarm. Tut tut. From where we are sitting, on the sidelines, we can’t see the front door, so at 9:30am with our bums numb from sitting and staring for so long, we shake off the cobwebs and head around the building. The queue already forming is impressive and we find ourselves a part of it snaking around the North side of the piazza.  

The shadows are long here and I pray that the queue moves fast. 10am comes around and the queue slowly moves ahead, they count people in and out, whether or not this is a covid rule I’m unsure, but for my own anxieties I am glad there won’t be too many people inside. Masks on, it is our turn. I take one more look up at the carved coloured marble marvel and step inside. I am shocked. As decorated as the exterior is, is how simple the interior is found. Walls are creamy white between the tall stone pillars and the floor is respectfully tasteful. The interior of the Dome is painted beautifully and reminds me of the paintings we saw in the Vatican. I’m taken back by its simplicity, but in a way I understand, this is a place of worship, it doesn’t need the bells and whistles, they are outside. 

We leave and head towards more sustenance. Breakfast! The sky is a picture perfect blue and the small clouds of the early morning have travelled away to distant places. The Duomo is bathing in light and the awe of the bigger crowds that have awoken. We wander the streets until we step into the Piazza della Repubblica. Walking past a small podium, we realise it elevates a small metal map of Florence. It is very detailed and I trace our footsteps through the city so far. It is an impressive addition to the square. As the sun shines down I gaze longingly at the carousel. Its horses with their feathered plumes gleam in the morning light and the gilded gold glints. I do love a carousel. I feel the pangs of nervousness in my stomach and forego the experience and head on to something special. 

Coffee with a rooftop view can be found at Caffe La Terrazza, in Rinascente, a Macy’s like department store. Just minutes away from the carousel this is something that I’ve hidden from Mr W most. We head up to level 6 past clothing and homeware and are greeted by two smartly dressed waitresses. Mr W looks at me with confusion flooding his features. We are led up a small set of stairs onto a very small rooftop with a dozen or so chairs. We are alone. Mr W orders a pastry and a coffee. My inner child who moaned at my retreat from the carousel orders a hot chocolate at 10:30am. I love her dearly for that. We sit in the corner closest to the Duomo. Here the rooftops feel so close I could touch them. I am transfixed by the colours of this city. The ever present red roof tile splayed out covering the city buildings and the mountains of green, pink and white marble erupting at its centre. We are a few minutes walk from its walls and yet if I just lean over the wall here, ever so slightly, reaching out my arm, I’m sure I could press my hand against her cool surface. I am hypnotised.  

The clouds have returned, and I am grateful, drinking a hot drink in the sun feels wrong. But, oh, the hot chocolate, it is thick enough to spread on a cracker and it is glorious. The cup is tiny and is that a sigh of relief I hear? This ‘drink’ is amazing but any bigger and it could be mistaken for a fondue and I’d be asking for strawberries. We take in the view and ask each other whether we should order another drink. Surely this is the best view in Florence, how is this place not busy? We don’t want to leave, even though the city itself is still recovering from the lost tourism and the roads aren’t quieter than we are used to in the Uk, up on this roof, we are relaxed and away from the minor hustle and bustle. Up here, it doesn’t feel like a city break, we could be anywhere among the clouds and breathing deep. Not wanting to risk getting too much of a good thing, we leave, and head back into a fully awake city centre. 

Today is definitely a slower paced day. It happens to be our wedding anniversary. What a start! 

Food and fretting in Florence

We are a couple who love a bargain, so when I heard of the best value sandwiches in Florence, I knew I had to check it out. And these weren’t any kind of sandwiches. These were GIANT focaccia bread marvels, loaded with Italian delicacies, and reviews in their thousands. There were warnings online to get there as soon as it opens to avoid the crowds and that was the plan. Boy, was there a queue, 100+ people deep. We love a bargain, but for the time spent in the queue we knew we’d rather enjoy the city. See you next time, Osteria All’antico Vinaio!

Our next stop was a hop on hop off tour bus. We spent some time wandering along the banks of the Arno river and meandered across the Ponte Vecchio. With the arched walkway of the Lungarno Anna Maria Luisa de’ Medici on the lead up to one of the most famous bridges in the world it was a very surreal moment. And sunny! The bridge itself is absolutely stunning and so unassuming. Its very nature of standing out is in direct juxtaposition to its very modest structure and shops that are strewn across it. The Bridge is famous due to the shops that line its length. Other than the waters that flow beneath it, you do not see the river past the bridge itself. The buildings upon it dominate the expanse of the river. It is a special place and one of the icons of Florence. 

Back to the bus tour. It is the usual experience. Jump on board, see all the sights, get off if and when you please. If we are in a city long enough, I like to use these buses to get a lay of the land and also to use as transport. If you plan it correctly you can get to the far flung places without paying any extra for trains and taxis. Like I said, we like a bargain. This particular bus company had proven difficult to date, there weren’t any clear maps on the website and I’d had to hunt down a map online. 

Herein started the most anxious part of the trip for me. I pinpointed a ‘hop on point’ on the map I’d found and we headed across the Ponte Vecchio to reach it. Although, ‘it’ wasn’t where it was supposed to be. I asked the friendly locals, the ice cream shop owners and yet no one could point me in the right direction. It was here I gave in and called the bus company and couldn’t get through. After emailing and leaving some messages I was called back. If you can picture an anxious mess retracing her steps back and forth across the Ponte Santa Trinita speaking loudly down the phone wondering what to do next, maybe even pulling her hair out, that was me. Poor Mr W stood by seeing my meltdown in real time and waiting to jump in should I need a timeout. After exchanging numbers with a lovely lady, we were soon texting on whatsapp to get to the right place. The day felt lost. And us with it.  

After a calm down walk to the new location, we gratefully hopped on our bus and headed onto the real-life map of Florence. Masks were mandatory and the bright day called for sunglasses. If I thought for a second of the strange tanlines my face would get it was a very quick thought indeed. The city was wrapped around us as we drove along and the information was packed into our brains via the onboard headphone sets. Mr W does like a tour bus and I felt the familiar calm that travel brings wash over me. We passed grand arches and beautiful churches. I’m sure I could google what they were and how you could find them, but understand this. At that time, I felt happy enough to be looking with my eyes and feeling free in my mind. Free from the worries of covid and back where I belonged. 

The bus climbs up the gently sloping road that is the Viale Machiavelli, a tree lined winding road that is absolutely breathtaking. I spot a few Italian cypress trees dotted here and there and am transported back to Rome. I am mesmerised. We jumped off the bus only once at the Piazzale Michelangelo. From here you have the most perfect view of Florence. Perfect to sit and watch. Perfect for photos. Perfect to watch the clouds roll in and block out the sun. Yes, it started raining. Big fat droplets fell down on us with nary an umbrella or shelter in sight. What could we do? Nothing. What did we do? Nothing! It rains, you get wet and sometime after you’ll be dry again. This is pandemic travelling. Rain does not ruin this day. 

The rain spent a few minutes prancing off the cobbles and then continued over the city. We spent time until the next bus grabbing a drink, taking photos and staring up at the bronze replica of Michelangelos ‘David’. For the second time we saw how the Duomo transformed the skyline of Florence and even though it dominates the space it feels in tune with its surroundings. It is places like this that remind me of the importance of travelling. How it is a privilege and should never be taken for granted.

Another rain cloud bursts above us as the bus pulls up and we leap on board. No top deck for us! It is not long before we are back by the river and our original pick up point. We alight, hungry and tired. I’ve heard of a small panini place next to the Duomo that makes another cheap sandwich for the budget conscious traveller. 

Panini Toscani, is the first place I’ve been given a taste test ever. The man behind the counter is surrounded by huge hanging salami, trays upon trays of antipasti and piles of loaves of bread. With a flick of his knife, he slices three meats and holds them out for me. This is a hard challenge. Once I’ve eaten, he asks me, ‘A, B or C’. I feel like a contestant on a game show, I choose my answer. He nods. Another flick of the knife, another food. Cheese. ‘A, B, C.’ This game is fun. Out comes a bigger knife. Bread this time. ‘A,B,C’. My choices are made, my panini is crafted. Mr W is given the same challenge. And let me be clear. It is a challenge. Every mouthful has been fantastic. I want all meats, all cheeses, all breads. Our winnings have wrapped in paper and we head back into the shadow of the Duomo. If I was to tell you that when the sandwich was finished that I wanted to cry, it would be a fair evaluation of the incredible taste I experienced. The whole process to be honest was just brilliant. A tiny 2 metre tall doorway leading to a food filled hall of wonder next to the 114 metres of the Duomo and I’m unsure of which one is the top contender. I just eat and let my heart, and stomach, decide.

A rejuvenating shower and outfit change is on the cards. Maybe a cheeky nap. 

We head out for dinner. It is a 10 minute walk and we are eager for food. Raviolo and Raviolo is a small haunt that makes, you guessed it, Ravioli, I have pre-booked a table to be sure of a seat. The booking felt prudent for April 2020, when booking the trip before the pandemic began. Now, we are one of two couples eating in the restaurant and the stark reality of the pandemic is hard to forget. Mr W is not a big pasta fan and I hope that the reviews on this place have set me on the right path. I order a cheese medley and Mr W orders the butter and sage. From the first bite, I see his eyes light up, this place is good. It is more than good, it is a revelation. Hand made ravioli with beautiful flavours and texture. The restaurant is small and I imagine if you didn’t know it was here, you could quite easily walk past it. But that would be a shame. 

The day has had its ups and downs. The fretting that made me so forlorn is long gone and the food that lines my stomach is making me sleepy. The walk back to the apartment is a slow one, we look into the windows of ice cream parlours and wonder… should we?

Faith in Florence

Having only been to Italy once before I had no real expectations of Florence. The only interaction I had had with the city was through a book by Dan Brown which had been turned into a movie starring the god that is Tom Hanks. That is where my knowledge started and ended. Even then the film darted from city to city and country to country. It doesn’t do much to whet the appetite. 

Mr W had always said he wanted to go and as we were to be celebrating his birthday, it was an easy decision. Bookings made, postponed due to covid and re-booked for September 2020 and here we were. 

Florence! We arrive in the city not long before 10pm and make our way from Santa Maria Novella Station to our apartment. It is a 10 minute walk to Via de Brunelleschi and the city is dark. Only a few businesses are open, mostly food on offer and we are both tired. We have to pick up our key for the apartment in another complex and my arse drops out when the man at the reception desk can’t find our key. After triple checking every drawer, lockbox and reading all instructions he finally finds it. I scoop my arse up off the floor and we continue on our way. We glimpse the Duomo as we emerge from Via Martelli. It appears ghostly in the dark night with only a few lights shining on the green, pink and white marble facade. It doesn’t feel real. We’ve been travelling for over 7 hours, travelling during covid is different enough to make the hours longer, and we are ready to rest our backpacks. The city is falling to sleep and we aren’t far behind. 

We fall into the most amazing apartment and sleep soundly. Mr W in particular wonders what the morning will bring!

The following morning feels like a dream. We aren’t used to arriving so late into a city and so waking up here this morning is like arriving all over again. Before we found the apartment the night before we grabbed a breaded chicken panini and half of it is waiting for us in the fridge. Our day begins at 8am and I find myself praising the huge shower. I need to wash the previous day off my body and out of my mind. It is a luxury I do not want to leave. The sun is gleaming outside and I am wondering whether my choice of jeans and a jumper is appropriate.

Our first port of call this morning is the Palazzo Vecchio and Arnolfo’s Tower. It’s only a 6 minute walk and there aren’t many distractions, the city is still waking up. There are street cleaners whirring by and only a few other people going about their morning. Piazza della Signoria is enormous. The sun engulfs the entire space. Arnolfo tower makes a statement both against the blue sky and with its shadow on the ground. We have arrived. Welcome. Hiding in the shadow we can see how the space is blindingly lit from above and many of the restaurants around the square are slowly opening their doors to the new day. We are early for the Palazzo Vecchio guided tour to the Tower and Mr W requires coffee. 

We wander all of 30 seconds and find a small eatery. Caffe San Firenze will sit roughly 10 people, but as we soon learn, the counter is where the action happens. As we sit and sip our coffees, people walk in, order, drink their coffees and pay in less than five minutes. This is a quick stop place and we are here to witness it all. This is the Italy I love. The intimate moments here, that in England are both boring and forgotten. Caffeine gloriously flooding our veins, we head back to the Palazzo. Our tour isn’t a typical talking tour, the only reason we have a guide is to see the tower. That’s the only way to see it. By being led, I imagine it’s safer and numbers can be monitored. And by safer i mean, it’s a long way up and therefore a long way down! To maintain the integrity and beauty of the tower there are no guide or safety rails. Hence the guide or dare I say chaperone.

We are in the main entrance of the Palazzo and are sent up to the most awe-inspiring spectacle I am yet to witness. The hall of the five hundred, the Salone dei Cinquecento, is absolutely stunning. It’s paintings are vast and are actually hard to comprehend. The sheer size and detail stops you in your tracks. The only thing in the room that tears away your gawking eyes is the panelled ceiling. It. Is. A. Wonder. 

We have to leave to start our tour. So we, a group of ten, start our ascent. We are taken through the winding maze of staircases, rooms and corridors. Mr W and I are nervous about the walk up the tower. I have a fear of spiral staircases, I thank the Sacre Coeur for that, and Mr W worries about his asthma. Ignoring the stairs we have already climbed up into rooms, and then down again, before turning corners and heading up more, we have 233 steps up inside the tower. I am praying for normal staircases. And there they are. Not a spiral in sight. Dark stone stairs that just keep going.  As our group is small and the only ones permitted in the tower the nerves have subsided. We don’t feel hurried at all. Unlike other stone staircases I have climbed, this one is warm and I am glad for the ascent to end. The breeze at the top of the tower is glorious but pales in comparison to the view. 

Having seen rooftops of Italy only once before in Rome I have forgotten the earthy red tones of the roof tiles. The view stretches for miles like a red carpet. I could sit up here all day. The bells of the tower are above us held up by old wooden beams. I think for a second about the weight of the bells and the strength of the aged structure. What if they should fall? If it is my time I am happy to be doing what I love to do. With the person I love to do it with. 

The view from here is the perfect introduction to the city. You could say it was planned with this in mind. Wink wink. From up here we see the Arno river. Almost green in the sunlight. It creates a natural divide on the map of the city. From this lofty space we see the Duomo in all her glory. Rising 114 metres from street level it dominates the skyline. The surrounding buildings bow to its presence. I am strangely drawn to its immense stature. 

As always, I am reminded of why the Duomo is here in the first place. Faith. As an atheist I often find myself wondering how blind faith can lead to something so substantial being built. And yet I am drawn to them. I don’t mean to kneel at their gates and alters and utter silent words to a god. I am drawn to the blind faith and how it guides people everyday. It may not be my path but the more I see these cities the more I respect the faith people have. 

The faith the world has lost sight of in the past 6 months is on my mind. Covid has ravaged the world. Horrors unseen on such a scale in my lifetime have dominated the headlines and inch by inch taken our confidence in the world and the future. 

Up above this new city, I feel like myself. I’m exploring again. I’m believing again. Possibilities are creeping back. My faith is getting ready to return. 

A piece of Pisa

There are 37 people on this aircraft. It’s September 2020. 

Restrictions have lifted enough in the Uk for us to travel to countries on the green list. Every Thursday brings amendments to the list and so far Italy is go go go!

We land at Pisa airport and it is empty. It is 5pm local time and all services are closed. This is strange. Following the signs, we head to the Pisa mover that’ll take us into the heart of the city. Masks are on, backpacks strapped up and feet are eager. This is the kind of transport I like. Just EUR2.70 each and 5 minutes to the destination! Next stop: Pisa Centrale.

It is a 25 minute march to our only stop in the city. The daylight is fading and we must get back for our train to Florence. We cross the Arno river, so still in the evening sun and I have to pinch myself to believe that our postponed Italy trip has finally begun. We weave our way through old apartment buildings, where the restaurants underneath are just starting their terrace table service and the sounds of humanity grow louder.

And then, there she is. The leaning tower of Pisa. We emerge onto Piazza del Duomo and the setting sun streams its light upon this architectural wonder. It is illuminating. The whole scene is. There are more people here than in both the airports we have passed through today and they are smiling. Covid feels like a bad dream that we have now woken from. There are families taking selfies, couples arm in arm strolling and the army around the base of the tower. All life is here. 

The sky is various shades and shapes of mottled grey. But underneath the Cathedral and Tower of Pisa glow in the most magnificent light. It is the most spectacular welcome to any vacation we’ve had. We enter the Piazza and head left towards the Porta Nuova. The sun continues its journey towards the horizon and the intensity makes the scene dance before us. We stop every couple of metres to pick out the extraordinary details of the tower. It is a picture that will never need a filter. A memory that will never be replaced. A piece of life slotted into the dread of 2020.

The grass of the Piazza is the greenest grass we’ve seen. The light is the brightest. The smiles are wider. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve experienced something like a pandemic.  The good times are magnified. They boom out of the silence.

We follow the square around to the Battistero di San Giovanni. A huge circular building that is currently playing peekaboo with the sun. The detail on the facade is breathtaking and reminds me why Italy is one of the top destinations in the world. Italy’s unassuming nature to have these structures sitting just a stone’s throw away from regular life. Restaurants, stations and homes. It’s like this place just sprung up one day. And life just carried on without fuss or bother. 

The shadows grow long on the grass as we walk alongside the Cathedral, which in its own right dominates the space. With the light fading the marble turns from orange to a light grey. It is disappearing into the night’s sky. 

Up ahead the tower is alive burning orange in the sunset and the details are darkening by the second. It is transforming before us. I am so glad we came.

The initial plan was to use Pisa for its airport and head straight to Florence. Tourist traps are not my guide when planning city breaks. They’re all good and well dotted here and there in a day’s plan, but I find myself more and more drawn to the life of cities than the lines of citizens of the world, elbowing each other for photos and the best vantage point. But the fact of the matter this time was the proximity to something that I couldn’t pass by. An hour’s grace and detour meant it was done and dusted. Been there, done that. And yet it became so much more than that. It was the gateway of the whole trip. It started as it would then go on. Fulfilling every promise. Healing the fears of 2020 and soothing the worries for the future. Pisa encapsulated the feeling that life would move on. That people could come together again, smiling, laughing and enjoying the simplicity of existing.

Slow and steady, what’s that?

Nearly 9 years ago I was hired for my dream job. It involved itinerary planning for UK and European travel. As I had been creating itineraries for myself for over 7 years prior to this I had the skills needed to get a good head start. The job gave me the opportunity to expand on this and introduced me to places I’d not yet been to. At times I felt I could walk around cities like Rome and Paris blind and still know what was around me. It was methodical. Fast paced. Very detailed and specific work. Since leaving the job behind and coming to terms with living with anxiety, I’ve come to accept my need for itineraries when travelling. It means there are no hidden surprises and I can relax along the way. I won’t get lost because I’ve mapped out the route. I’ll have the postcode for the hidden car parks. Hotels are booked in advance so I can keep an eye on the budget. Food stops and supplies are planned so I don’t get stuck with a manky sandwich and a half rotten apple (this happened to Mr W, not me!). 

In the last couple of years Framework Travel has highlighted these skills to other people. I’ve created a huge number of New York itineraries for clients as well as trips to Berlin, Paris, Barcelona and London. In a strange way, by creating an itinerary I’m travelling in my mind’s eye. I’m walking the cobbled streets of Rome and watching the sun set over the Seine in Paris. It’s actually amazing to hear back how much my planning can help other people. 

Everything I’ve ever planned has been fast paced. 18 hour days in New York. A 72 hour itinerary in Paris squeezed into 1 day. 6 days in Italy to see 3 cities. Every single detail is researched and cut and pasted together with minute details slotted in. 

And then there’s Scotland. 

When I used to plan a weeks trip in London for 30 American students it would roughly be 6-7 pages long. This would include transfers, hotel details and addresses for places like the Tower of London and The British Museum. With our NC500 trip, the itinerary for 16 days is currently at 30 pages. THIRTY. The transfers are: car. But there are 14 hotels all with different check in details. And addresses for places to visit are more grid reference based than actual postcodes. It is so strange. And exciting! 

There will be places we visit on this big tour that have no ‘specific location’. It’s more a stream, or in some cases, a trickle of information found in the depths of the internet. Park at ‘such n such’  layby, 200 metres from ‘this’ pub, walk west for 1 mile, veer left at the fork in the path… and it goes on. We may not be able to rely on our phones due to phone reception and the weather is going to change from one minute to the next. And for the first time in my life, I can’t plan everything. There will be moments technology will fail us. There will be times the weather will test us, this is no beach holiday (although, ha, there are a few we will visit, dressed in jumpers and hiking boots). The food will be dried and revived by hot water from our car kettle. And there will be one, maybe two, occasions where my face will be scrubbed up for a nice meal on an actual plate. This is not going to be a vacation to relax. This is going to be a journey to explore, find and return back to basics. Well, as basic as it can get with an itinerary. 

So far it has taken 5 months of planning, researching and slotting this trip together and the more it builds the more my excitement grows and my anxiety weakens. For the first time I don’t know what to expect and that’s the exciting part. This isn’t the Colosseum in Rome, where you can stand and nod that all knowing yes, it matches the image you’ve transferred from the internet, magazines and tv shows to your travel bank in your brain. Scotland is rural. It changes every day. Different sunlights, seasons and vegetation. But it’s something bigger than what you see. That’s why since our first hiking trip in 2020, my travel mind has changed so vastly. It’s the effect hiking has on you. The setting out to new pastures, the long slogs up hills, the speedy trails down the other side and the beautiful end point. Even if it’s not beautiful, you have reached your destination and made yourself proud! No car, no taxi, just you and your feet. 

One of the more enlightening aspects of this planning stage is how much slower it is. As I mentioned, there aren’t websites based on some of the walks and it’s just the ‘word of mouth’ I can track down online. I’ve stumbled upon some snags here and there where my fast-paced style does not suit the lifestyle of the Scottish businesses. When trying to reach someone about some axe-throwing, it took two emails and a phone call. Spread out over 3 weeks. In London, you’d have an answer within an hour. It’s not that Scotland doesn’t want the business or tourists, but they seem to take it all at a slower pace. I may have realised to avoid stumbling, I just needed to slow down. Take it steady.

This trip is so much more than the end destination, hell it needs to be with over 500 miles to cover, it’s about the journey. Yes, there will be an itinerary. We still need hotel information and addresses, but when it comes to activities and the driving, it’s more about looking around than ahead. I’m starting to wonder whether my anxieties will be left at home. And whether my mind can finally have its deep breath. Slow and steady. 

Donuts

Today I’m struggling with my mental health. I was going to leave it at that and allow you, the reader, to decipher it quite simply. I’d chosen to take a break from writing today.

I’m all for that. Unfortunately there are times when my enormous fear of letting myself down storms to the front of my mind and declares war with rationality. Write. You’ll feel better. Write. You’ll only be disappointed that you didn’t. 

Write. 

I’ve been thinking of Scotland. In 2021 we took a few days out of our busy autumn schedule and travelled up to Edinburgh. I’ll put my hands up now and say the sole reason was to go to Edinburgh zoo to see the Giant Pandas. And it did not disappoint! I, in fact, spent the better part of 30 minutes sitting and staring at Yang Guang, their male panda. I may also have cried. It was a special, special moment for me. It was just Mr W and I for the viewing. The zoo is situated on the side of a large hill and the Giant Pandas are right at the top of this hill. Go figure! We quickly decided to slog all the way up the hill first, making no stops, so we could see the panda without interruptions. And who doesn’t love to get the crap bit out the way first. Walk up the hill. Enjoy the slow, winding walk back at your own pace. Roast dinner, veg first! It’s the rule!

Floating on cloud nine, I eventually had to leave the panda and seeing a donut cart, decided on a treat. Hot, sugary donuts! Mmm! You know the type you get at a fair or by the seaside and you can barely hold the paper bag because they’re so hot, but your stomach can’t wait, so you bite into the molten doughiness and find instant bliss and regret. Yeah, those kind. 

So, while I’m waiting in the queue for my 10am donuts, there is a lady in front of me who asks the server whether she can buy just a single donut. The server says “no, they come in batches of 4 only.” The lady says, “oh, okay, there’s no way I want that many.” I internally gasped and reminded myself to include Mr W on my donut haul. She walked away and I felt sad for the lady who was leaving donutless. I quickly get my bounty, and as I turn to leave, I see her with her family. I made a quick decision and approached her. “ Would you like one I ask?” She gives me the once over with her crazy detector and says “No, that’s okay.” “Honestly it’s okay”, I reply, “go for it”. And she does, I say “Enjoy” and walk away. Mr W is sitting on a wall, watching me, he asks what I’m doing and when I tell him, he laughs. My reason for sharing, it’s nice to be nice. 

There are such deeds in the world that have become a bit of a phenomenon. The ‘Pay it Forward’ movement is really quite special. It’s popular in coffee shops in particular. When paying for your tall skinny decaf latte you add a couple of pounds to the bill and the next person gets their drink free. With the reminder to pay it forward. I’d like to think that the zoo donut lady paid it forward at some point in time, but also don’t like to think of telling someone to do it. I didn’t do it because it was on my mind to do something that day, it was a spontaneous thought, and that meant something to me too. And one less donut.

It’s often when we are thanked for something we’ve done, an unconscious act of ‘nice’ that we realise its power. I have a 12 year old niece who I haven’t seen a lot recently. Covid, life, geography. She’s always been quiet, loves to read like me and is going through a tough time at school. Only recently was I told this. A few weeks ago, she popped up on my personal Instagram feed as ‘someone you may know’. I hit the follow button and sent a message asking how she was. It felt rude not to, to be honest. I wouldn’t add anyone to my online ‘social’ circle unless I actually planned to have a conversation with them. It’s one of the biggest reasons I delete people. If we don’t talk, what’s the point? We had the briefest of all chats and that was that. Fast forward to last week and my niece’s mum gives me a call. We’re chatting away, catching up after a long absence of calls since Christmas and she stops to thank me for messaging my niece. I’m taken back to be honest. It was just a hello and how are you. However it turns out things have been difficult recently, she’s been withdrawn at home and school and very quiet. The night after we spoke, she was very chatty and smiley and her mum felt more relaxed than she had been in months. Not knowing this, I said that it really was nothing, I just wanted to say hello. And I was told that it had made all the difference in the world. That my niece felt seen and not forgotten. I won’t lie, that hit me in the heart with a different kind of ouch. I know what it feels like to feel alone, I’m not alone, but my anxiety makes me feel isolated. I know the joys of someone reaching out because they want to. Not because they’re fulfilling a duty or checking up on you. Sometimes it’s the unconscious acts that make the biggest impacts.

In the autumn of 2013, Mr W’s sister, my now sister-in-law, had a major car crash. She was taken to Whitechapel hospital in London. Working in London at the time meant I could travel easily from work, meet MR W on the station platform and see her for a few hours. At this point we’d only met a handful of times and I still felt like the new kid on the block. One particular evening Mr W had to travel for work, so I went alone. Unannounced. I took magazines, sweets, food and my dry sense of humour. All the things I would want in that situation. I only stayed an hour or so. My sister in law is a loved lady and had other visitors arrive after me. I went home and thought nothing of it. It’s what you do. Fast forward to our engagement, there’s talk of me becoming an official family member and how I had fit into the family from the start. I had made quite an impact on my sister in law. Dumbfounded, I asked why. Back then, and even today 9 years later, my sister in law would talk about my solo visit to the hospital and what it meant to her. She said it showed I cared,not just for Mr W but for his family. I shrug it off. It’s what you do. Someone you love, someone you care about, someone who needs you. You are there. It. Is. What. You. Do. 

I think about these moments and others when I’m sad, upset and anxious. It makes me feel better. It puts me in my place. It grounds me. I don’t know why. I don’t do anything to be seen or heard. I do it because it costs nothing to be nice, well maybe the price of a donut, but it literally doesn’t have to cost a thing. Whether the lady paid if forward. Whether I got told about my niece. And even if I was told of my sister in law’s gratitude. It makes no difference to whether I, we, everyone should be a little nicer. The reward should be secondary. It’s a selfless act. I’m no saint. No one is. But just because we’re not saints, doesn’t mean we’re automatically sinners. Maybe we can be floating in the middle. Being nice. Eating naughty donuts. And sending a hello out into the world. 

You never know who might need it. 

Sustainability on a budget

Covid changed a lot. That is a fact. It disrupted every single life around the world. It’ll be a saga that is told for decades to come. 

I have touched upon how life changed for us in previous blogs, check out ‘Changes to how we saw the world’ and ‘A hop, skip and a fracture’ to learn more. It has changed how we view money, travel and single use purchases. It’s surprising to think that they all go hand in hand. So with that in mind, welcome to,

Sustainability on a budget! 

*play the riotous jingle from our sponsors (there are no sponsors)*

Our biggest trip this year will be 16 days travelling from Essex, up to Inverness, over the top of Scotland, following the NC500, pausing in the Isle of Skye and heading down to the Lake District. It’s a lot of mileage to consider and plan ahead for. It’s a lot of everything. 

Food. 

Accommodation

Rubbish. 

Luggage.

We knew early on that we didn’t want this trip to cost the earth. So, from the moment I started planning the route, our stops were allocated due to low cost accommodation. Luckily enough the NC500 takes you through so many small and remote places that a cheap bed for the night wasn’t too hard to come by. There are places I’ve booked in the Isle of Skye and Fort William that have cost almost double our £40-£50 a night budget, but this is to be expected in the more ‘touristy’ areas. Fort William itself has many shops, the popular ‘Harry Potter’ steam railway and is the gateway to Ben Nevis, the Uk’s highest mountain. So it is understandable that our hotel here is costing £80 for the night. It’s an understanding I’ve talked myself round to. Especially as it’s a room with bunk beds! Although it does have a private bathroom, which the diva that lives in me is so grateful for. Other hotels where cheaper do have shared bathrooms and as someone who doesn’t pee in public bathrooms, I’m definitely going all out for this trip! If I remember correctly there are 2-3 hotels on the trip where we won’t share a bed but the room will be private. For the sake of one night, we will survive the separation. Ha! I think after our full days of driving, hiking and exploring, we’ll want nothing more than our own bed, covers and comfort. All hail a return to separate marital beds. I’ve found that when trying to save money, it’s easier to look for hotels that don’t include breakfast, in fact there are only 3 hotels on our entire trip that offer breakfast to be included. One of those hotels is in the Lake District and was booked using a voucher and is our only luxury accommodation on the trip. When it comes to the accommodations we have booked it’s not easy to see how they are sustainable. When one thinks of sustainability it’s often of eco-hotels and the like. However in regards to sustainability and our hotels, it is more of a need to sustain a budget. This budget is important to us, because it means for the first time, travelling in the UK can cost as little as travelling abroad. Too often have we booked a trip to Spain for a week because it is almost one third of the price of a week in Cornwall. This is one of the huge changes covid has brought about. Our need to stay in the UK, but not pay out of the proverbial arse to do so. So far our budget for 16 days in the UK, is at £1086. 92. We have more food to buy, so this amount will increase, but it does include the more expensive items such as the bladder bags and portable kettle. Something that is really important to us this year is stretching the almighty pound coin. It was important when we started planning the trip in December 2021, and we find now in May 2022 it is even more crucial. The cost of living has increased enormously. So if we can minimise the output in terms of vacationing in the UK and learn more about living sustainably in the process I’d call that a win-win situation. 

One of the biggest budget saving hacks I can share with you, is to make your money work harder for you. Something I’ve been doing for years is using our Tesco clubcard points to book our hotels. It is possible to triple up your points in order to do this. It’s easy to do online and I’ve found plenty of hotels that take the vouchers. It means for every £5 of vouchers you potentially have £15 towards a hotel booking. It takes some getting used to as taxes and vat aren’t covered by vouchers, but ultimately it gives you a huge saving! For instance, the hotel I have booked in Fort William cost £85 for the night. I used a £60 voucher and paid £25 cash. However the vouchers I used were originally worth £20. So that means I’m paying £45 for the room, which means a saving of £40! BUT, if you really want to push the thinking, you did nothing but buy your food shop to gain these points, they take time to build, but don’t waste them on your food shop. Boost them! Even a small amount can be boosted and buy you a great dinner at a restaurant along the way. We’ve exhausted our vouchers as of January this year, however by the time we head to Scotland we may have enough for a cheeky pub meal. Not a pot noodle in sight! All in all, we have used £195 of vouchers for this trip, which has cost us £65, that is an enormous saving of £130. Not too shabby eh. And honestly we haven’t compromised on hotels. They are budget, but you do your research. Clean, not a shed and towels included. On this trip, I’ll be happy for a bed and 10 hours out of the car! It may seem complicated, but I assure you it’s easy and it’ll make the trip you take that bit better when you’ve chopped a budget clean in half. 

Mr W and I have spoken for hours on the best way of tackling a budget when it comes to the food for this trip. To add a challenge into the mix, we want to buy food that we can take with us, that won’t spoil and has recyclable, and therefore sustainable, packaging. 

As discussed in ‘Out of body experience number 342’ we’ve decided to take tinned food such as curries and stews to give us the much needed protein and vegetables we need to consume to keep our energy levels up. The best part being that the tin can and paper label are all recyclable. Along with these food items, we have stocked up on packet soups and breakfast oats. All with sustainable packaging. We hope that every few days we’ll be able to buy loose fruit too. To suit eating these packaged foods on the road, we’ve bought a small kettle that can run off of the car’s electric supply. We are lucky to have a hybrid SUV that will turn into a car/kitchen for the trip. We’ve invested in large, lightweight soup mugs for our car meals, have reusable cutlery and have kept two 5 litre bottles to reuse on the trip for water. These water ‘reserves’ will help us fill our bladder backpacks for our long hikes and our metal water bottles for the shorter ones. It would be easy to buy a huge stock of 500ml water bottles to take on the trip, but we’ve become accustomed to using our metal and 5L bottles in order to use less plastic and save a lot of money! In fact, the only other drinks we’ll be taking on our trip are a small variety of canned drinks when water just won’t cut it. Again, I like to think that the sugary treats will taste better when I know the can will be recycled. I plan to send out emails to our accommodations and ask of their recycling methods, as this is important to us and also in regards to our eating habits on the trip. It may come to me finding recycle points in some of the larger towns, so our efforts to be as sustainable as possible does not fall at the second hurdle of the mixed hotel rubbish bin. 

Something I’ve found really useful, and I’ll admit really enjoyable about this food challenge, is the need to organise the food properly. After a long day of hiking and driving, we will find the need to grab food quickly and therefore easily. Therein comes the large ziplock bags. I have not bought these bags rather been sent them as packaging for clothing purchases. When something like these cannot be recycled, it feels good to use it again and again to prevent it becoming a single use item. In the past these bags have been used to hold dirty washing and toiletries. I have quite the collection! Therefore these will be introduced into the food organisation plan for this trip and make for easy grab bags for breakfast, lunch and dinner. 

They will also come in exceptionally handy again for dirty clothes. With the amount of walking and possibly rain we’ll encounter, there will be a great need to separate clean and dirty items. As we plan to take all of our food, the space in the car will be limited when it comes to clothing. So the plan is to pack smart and also to stop at least once at a laundrette. It isn’t ideal. But it means our budget is more sustainable food wise and the food is in sustainable packaging. The only packaging problem I have right now is the milk. It’s impossible to take regular milk on the trip as we won’t have a way of keeping it cool. But this is why I thought of the single serving milks you’ll often find in hotel rooms. The tiny ones that Mr W needs 3 of for his coffee. These are readily available to bulk buy online and I’m happy to have found last night that the actual pot is recyclable. However the lid is not. So if you have any suggestions (other than creamer) I’d love to hear them!

A huge problem we’ve been dealing with at home recently is the amount of bottles we recycle from the bathroom. I’ve been trying out some shampoo bars and Mr W has gone on step further and has a 2-1 shampoo/conditioner bar. So far there have been no complaints, although I’d like to try others due to the after effects and the health of my hair, but there are so many companies that offer these bars with sustainable packaging that I’m sure we’ll find the right ones soon! Team those up with shower gel and soap bars and I’m confident for the environment friendly squeaky clean travellers making their way along the NC500.

However, it is here I will share with you the guilty pleasure I have found in the past. And that is… hotel toiletries! We have a fair few half used hotel toiletry bottles from our travels, which we knew would be thrown out and wasted, that we have bought home and put in a box to use at other times. Now is that time. It is not desirable, considering the implications of plastic and its often found unrecyclable properties. However, I like to think as this was going to end up in the bin when we used it the first time, we are not wasting the rest of the product and moving towards a more sustainable practice of soap bars in the future. Speaking of which, we plan to keep these in mesh bags so the product dries quicker and therefore doesn’t melt away on the side of a sink and we don’t find our money literally washing away down the drain. 

The planning of any holiday can be hard. Learning about a new place, what it has to offer and what works where and when on an itinerary. Adding all of the above into the mix has genuinely been so interesting. I have enjoyed the challenge. I find the closer we get to the trip I am more thankful for the new practices we’ve developed than the experience itself. Sustainable travel is as hard as you make it. And what is sustainable travel really? Is it leaving only footprints? Is it wearing your pants for 4 days in a row? Front, back, inside out and back to front again. Or is it finding sustainable practices that give your mind a cleaner view? That makes your conscience smile. Hiking. New experiences. New places. Morning sprints into the coldest of seas. Driving for 3 hours watching the mountains grow closer and then further away in the rear-view mirror. Maybe it’s the rewards of hiking the path of a waterfall that feels so rewarding. Maybe it’s the gratification our souls need after the last few years of struggling. It’s the rewards of giving something back. Keeping the air cleaner and the seas free from plastic. It’s stopping on a dirt road in the rain, sitting in the boot of our car, tailgate up and watching the world go by. The world that has sustained us. 

Travel needs to be more than jetting off and spending money. It needs to be more than the rubbish we produce and buy. It needs to be a way of sustaining the soul. 

Engaging moments

A squirrel runs along the back of the bench we are sitting on. It is 10:30am, or thereabouts, on a Sunday morning, and we find a rare occasion to sit down in this busy city. We’re in Manhattan, we flew in yesterday afternoon and have so far hit the ground running. The planning for this trip started in February 2015, it is now December. Mr W, my boyfriend at the time, had succumbed to my pleas and allowed me to show him around my second home. New York City. 

We land with only a few hours of daylight left, dump our bags at our hotel and head out into the city. The plan for tonight is a wander around midtown, ending up at Rockefeller centre to see the tree. The big one. La pièce de résistance. Christmas has landed. We stroll up past Bryant Park, lit up by its Festive huts selling their wares, past the Public Library with its wreath wearing stone lions and pause slightly to glance upon the luxurious Saks display and there it is. 30,000 lights and the famous star. And there are thousands of people surrounding it. With the months of preparation behind me, I’d forgotten one key piece of information, tonight was the first Saturday since the tree had been lit. As we get closer to the crowd, my fight or flight kicks in and I have to walk away. Crowds really bother me. The feeling of being shimmied about or being squashed is too much. Mr W understands and we leave with a plan to come back another time, we say a brief ‘Hello’ to Radio City Music Hall and hit Times Square. 

The next morning is the big one. We wake early as the sun rises into bright and clear skies. The Empire State building awaits! One of the most iconic places on planet earth. With its art deco features, history in the making legacy and most amazing views this will be my 5th visit. Mr W doesn’t like heights but the nerves are blown away by the fierce winds up on the 86th floor. With its iconic criss cross metal fencing and viewfinders, it is undoubtedly the most recognisable scene in the city. Coming early has been a good choice, the crowds are thin enough you don’t feel rushed and there’s a slight haze as the sun rises over the East River and shines over the island. It feels as if you are watching the city wake up, allowing a slight lay in on this Sunday morning, and head out into the new day. As we emerge from the gilded lobby we realise we are early for our brunch booking. We take the time to head to Madison Square Park. It is warm enough to walk and the sun feels good. This is one of my favourite past-times in this city. We find a bench and watch the sunlight play with the dappled shade as the city’s residents run, stroll and walk their dogs by. I’m always caught by envy at this moment. Watching the world go by. Of how lucky they are to live here. I know this will be one of the few times we’ll sit still on our 5 day visit. As if they are aware of that fact, grey squirrels approach us, they climb up Mr W’s legs, awaiting a handful of food. One makes it onto the back of the bench. Mr W smiles as he sees me in my element, wild animals so close and friendly in my favourite place. I glance over at him as he looks around and nods ever so slightly. In a single move, he sweeps off of the seat and kneels in front of me. The moment transforms, the city fades, and if he asks me to marry him, I do not hear it. The blood pounds in my ears, the traffic falls silent, there is only us. I start crying as he smiles from his grounded position. There is much laughter and crying and disbelief as I finally remember to answer his question. My trembling hand accepts the beautiful diamond ring while my voice remains caught in my throat. And just like that, the day comes back into focus. The squirrels have abandoned us. People walk by. The taxi’s rumble by. 

I start my engaged life by calling out to two people passing by. My voice is not playing ball and I sound like a strangled banshee. They ask me to repeat myself. “We’ve just got engaged, will you take our picture?” Forever captured, is me shaking, blotchy faced on that bench. Amazing. 

Peeling ourselves from the bench, we head to brunch, steak and eggs for him, bellini for me. The shaking has not subsided and, besides telling the taxi driver, the world does not know what has happened. It carries on despite my world having changed forever.

Before leaving for our trip, several of my colleagues all but bet money on the engagement happening in New York. With exclamations of “Of course he will, it’s your favourite place in the entire world.” And despite my and his insistence that it wouldn’t be happening, they would not stop. It would seem I’d be returning to prove them right. After reflecting on that, we spoke about how he proposed. All was not as it seems, I had inadvertently ruined his initial proposal plans. It was to be under the Christmas tree the night before. But he is laughing. He says it does not matter, that the opportunity in the park was perfect for us. Both laughing, relaxing and drinking it all in. 

I often think of this moment in time. So much of our now married life is planned. Weekends. Social events. Holidays. Schedules are the order of every day. What our engagement reminds me to do is sit, stop and listen every now and again. It’s in those moments we find ourselves again. It is those times that everything around becomes white noise and we find our way back to everything truly important in our lives.