France 2011

Friday 31 May 2013   Tullamarine, Melbourne, Australia.

 

Well, all is ready for this year's adventure........ apart from the fact that, as per previous years, our this year's tenants  have decided to break their lease. And as a parting gesture have informed me that a fire main has been leaking for a month.  But the adrenalin rush of the prospect of no income to pay for the holiday is sure to put a pleasant edge to our journey.

Nevertheless, we are all packed with downsized travel bags bulging at the seams. Year 1 we took two bags in which we could have camped. Year 2 we took one such bag and a half sized bag. This year we have two half sized bags and  we have already selected our paper carry bags for next year.

All my techie stuff goes in the hold and I don't even alert the baggage guy to the goodies to be found. I learned my lesson two years ago so we pass effortlessly through the obstacle path to the aircraft. This year I have not even attracted the attention of the bomb squad and they don't   even want to sniff my clothing. Things are looking up!

After an interminably long taxiing manoeuvre, the pilot reverts to his original plan to fly to Singapore and we are airborne.

We are flying Jetstar  to Singapore then Air France to Paris. Unfortunately the onboard entertainment is non existent unless you hire a portable player. Why would one fly a budget airline then waste money paying for an entertainment system? But Jetstar are quite clever. As an inducement to hire the unit, the stewards and stewardesses are as boring as all get-out so you can't even get free entertainment enjoying their antics, as we had done in previous years. Hopefully Air France, who include inflight entertainment, will  provide entertaining staff.

So until we get to Changi I will just snooze while Ro continues with her research of sights to see in Britain.

We arrive 8 hours later at about 5.40pm local time and disembark without incident. It is raining heavily and dark. We are 40 minutes late which is good as that means 40 minutes less wait until our Air France flight at 11pm.

Changi airport provides a sight seeing bus to fill in the time between flights but they only run during daylight hours. They also have two or three themed gardens so we intend to look at those, if they are lit and the rain eases.

Unfortunately the first garden which has all types of cactii  is  also a designated smoking area so the smell is not that of cactii or garden bouquetes. The smell lingers despite the Singaporean penchant for cleaners who collect  any litter before it hits the ground.  The smell,  lack of lighting and rain dissuades us from spending much time in the garden so we instead take the skytrain shuttle to another terminal to seek out the butterfly garden. Unfortunately this is also a designated smoking area and, in any case, the butterflies have turned in for the night so we see none. But our efforts have chewed up some time and we have not too long to wait for our flight.

It is an A380 and we are in the stern section of the plane, near the spiral stairs. By 11.30 we are in the air for the rather arduous 12 hour flight. However the entertainment system is good and we manage a few catnaps between watching movies, climbing the spiral stairs and very frequent clock watching.

Saturday 1^st June 2013 CDG Airport, Paris, France

We arrive at CDG at 6am and commence battle with the French signage. We have to collect our baggage from carousel 30. Signs lead us down stairs to the baggage exit then, in the fashion to which we have become accustomed in France, stop. We remember the stewardess talking about T-der-er or T2E to the initiated and there is un petite suggestion we should take the shuttle train. Wherever we go in CDG we find people discussing what the cryptic signs may mean and the shuttle is no exception. We alight when we see T2 and follow signs to the baggage exit. However they also stop  when one sign shows to continue forward to 2E  and the reverse of the sign shows to go backward to 2E. A few more questions of unhelpful help desk attendants and we finally clear boarder control and collect our bags which miraculously have followed us to Paris.

Now for the TGV. Unfortunately TGV signs are non existent but drawings are plentiful. We reach the  area where we know from past experience that platform numbers only appear 15 minutes before departure. However there is a Nord Access and a Sud Access and both have the same platform numbers. Whether this is because they are two ends of the same platform or not is not clear. To make matters worse, there are signs on both which show the platform number but not the access to use. Finally we locate a sign which does show the access and platform number so we are happy we will find the train. This turns out to be a good thing as the train only lingers for one minute or so before leaving. Fortunately we are aboard so now we can relax.

At Poitiers we scramble for the door  and are disgorged with our luggage with the sea of departing passengers who stream onto the platform. We patiently wait our turn to enter the elevator, having learnt two years ago that struggling up the stairs is unnecessary.

As we exit we see our Escargot d’Wheels parked 100 meter or so along the street with Terry standing nearby. It transpires that Mavis and Terry’s Land Rover has damaged its gearbox so the van is the only transport available.

It has fared well over winter, the engine starting first turn. But there is mold on the ceiling. Nothing that a bit of bleach won’t remove.  We are reminded of our beloved boat where winter did similar things to its ceiling.  Bedding is a bit odiferous  also but a wash will fix that.

Arriving at Charroux, we have coffee with Mavis and Terry before travelling about 30 km to a small town where we are to have lunch. Every year, many towns have a lunch, a close approximation to street barbeques in Australia. The lunch is not wonderful but the ambience is enjoyable.

After lunch we return to Charroux to start preparing for our trip.  I have 4 or 5 five minute jobs. The first is a new outside light. In less than 2 hours I have the job 60% complete. It must be the holiday atmosphere which improves my efficiency so much. In Oz, a five minute job takes a minimum of 4 hours.

By 7 pm we are ready to sleep. However, despite a largish lunch, we have a light dinner with Mavis and Terry and return to our accommodation by 10 pm. We have been awake for  over 40 hours with just a few catnaps on the plane so getting to sleep is easy.

Sunday 2 June 2013 Charroux, France

I am back to 5 minute jobs by 8am. During the day I complete another 2 five minute jobs. I am on fire. I also help Terry with his automatic gates which have been otherwise for some years. The circuit board is of dubious quality and also showing its age.  One track is missing so I bridge that with some wire, reconnect the power and try the remote. Operation is spasmodic at best but improves as we cycle the gates back and forth. Well, not actually the gates as the shear pins were broken years ago when the system stopped working. One circuit is for gate lights. However buzzing on the board due to arcing seems to provide more light than the lamps whose bulbs are broken.

I leave Terry to fix the shear pins and explain that warranty for work done will only be considered if the gates are sent to Melbourne should there be a problem.

Sunday night we have a barbeque with John and Carol whom we know from the previous two years and Lauren, their grand daughter. There is much frivolity and we have a very enjoyable night. We go to bed about 10 pm again happy to sleep.

Monday 3 June 2013, Charroux, France

Monday dawns cloudless and promising to be warm. Summer has got to a slow start but some warm weather is expected over the next few days. After another job or two and we are ready to leave by 3 pm.

First some sustenance for both us and the van. The van has a rather bland diet exclusively consisting of diesel but that allows easy catering. Our diet is not hugely less bland but does involve some more extensive purchasing at our preferred provider, Lidl. The nice thing about Lidl is that we know where things are and the choice is less extensive. Extensive choice when you are unfamiliar with the language is not a good thing. 25 types of Lait at Lidl is far better than the 125 types available at Carrfour.

We want to head toward the west coast then travel via the coast to Cherbourg for our ferry trip to Ireland on 9^th June.  We see a campsite along the way so head for that.

During our time at home we purchased some new maps for the GPS. Somewhere during the process Thomasina had a gender redefinition and is now Thomas. Thomas expresses far less attitude than did Thomasina, yet we feel that one of our party is missing. Despite that, Thomas does a good job and delivers us through scenic roadways to our campsite.

The managers are delightful and both prioritise showing us the resident nesting  Hirondelles (birds) in the shower block before attending to any paperwork. They speak absolutely no English so there is a lot of good humoured lack of understanding.  Nevertheless we part with 22 euro which includes free wifi and spa.

The free wifi inspires us to check our emails. Bad choice. Very bad choice. The first email is from a tenant advising us that the property had flooded. There is an unpleasant feeling of helplessness being 12000 km away from that sort of news. However, reading the email at 8pm means it is 4am in Australia and ringing the tenant at that time may be counterproductive. Instead I put the alarm on for 1 am and go to bed for 3 hours. At 1 am I will ring Australia  and sort things out. Nevermind that my brain won’t be working and I am 12000 km away.

But life goes on and one way or another the world is not going to end.  

Tuesday 4^th June 2013  La Ronde, France

Thus a 7am we go for a nice hot spa after a chilly night and during the morning soak up some welcome sun.

By 11 am we are ready to continue our journey. Ile de Re, which had captured Ro’s imagination,  is on the coast directly opposite where we have camped and about 1 hour away. As usual we specify to avoid motorways and Thomas takes us through quaint villages and down one horse tracks, dodging farm implements and hugging potholy verges as trucks pass. Some roads are so undulating that we are again reminded of our boat. It is fortunate that neither of us is susceptible to being seasick.

We pay our 8 euro toll and cross the 3 km bridge onto Ile de Re. We had entered a randomly selected point on Ile de Re for our destination and as luck would have it, there is an aire (motorhome stopover area) where we finish our trip. We will stay here the night and explore the island on our bicycles as it is very flat and has many bicycle paths.

Once set up we go for a walk along the wide flat beach. The sea looks beautiful and the sand is fine and white, with some rocky outcrops. Quite reminiscent of Australian beaches.

We return for our usual lunch of  bread, salad and ham then set off for a bike ride.  The island is about 30 km by 5 km but very flat. Riding is easy and we explore the streets of holiday villas which are packed in dense villages across the island. The Tourist Information Centre provides a bike map. We ride a bit further and find a beach on which we lie soaking up the sun for a few hours. The sea is very cold but the sun is warm without being too hot.

Riding back to our Escargot, we settle in for the night. Being fully self contained is great. For some reason, the water pump seems to suffer less voltage drop this year so our showers are better, which is very nice.

Wednesday 5^th June 2013 Ile de Re, France

Next morning we set off to explore the island. We saw a church last night which we would like to look at. However as we approach, a bus approaches and we need to squeeze against a wall to let the bus pass. Unfortunately there are some vehicles behind so an impasse results. The bus can’t move. We can’t move. The van behind can’t move. And there is a car behind him. The female bus driver is good humouredly gesticulating that we can’t go down the road she is in.  There seems to be no reason why and the van behind wants to go the same way. We try reversing a bit but the van behind stops us. He moves a bit. We move a bit. He moves some more. Eventually everyone disburses and we give up on seeing the church. We drive a bit further down narrow streets with what we think are do not enter signs abounding. Eventually we find a car park but a local informs us in French that camping cars can’t park there. We give up and go to see a Phare (light house).

The light house is very impressive. Built in mid 1800s, it is an imposing building. It seems to be a significant tourist attraction but because it is early in the season and early in the day, the area is mostly vacant except for shop keepers lethargically preparing their premises for a mediocre tourist turnout. There is also a tower from the mid 1600s which is significantly overshadowed by the lighthouse. Nothing worth investigating is open so we walk around the site then continue to Saint Martin which is the main town on the island.

Camping cars are persona non gratis on this island. We end up at an aire where we can dump our waste products and fill with water. We do this and then intend to park and remove our bikes for a more acceptable tour of the city. Unfortunately, as I reverse into a parking spot, watching my newly installed 7” LCD colour reversing system with the dual inputs and reversible images, I fail to see a car marginally outside the camera’s field of vision and a loud bang halts our progress. The car is an aging Opel which is somewhat worse for the wear but more so where my bumper hit it. The tail light lens is broken and there is a slight crease in the hatch back. We leave a note including our registration number and our email address and an apology in English. Time to leave this idyllic, well almost, island.

We head for a campsite near a quaint village named Piriac sur Mer. We should arrive by 6pm. Along the way we stop for lunch by a river next to which is built a tall building which is a bit confusing. It could be a commercial building from the 1600s or 1700s but it has an ornate terrace, staircase and balustrade. The roof is in poor repair, attempts having been made to repair it with galvanised iron.  It would not be inexpensive to replace! But it epitomises a lot of what we like about France.

We continue on to our intended campsite and are fortunate to get a site there. It is not actually open yet but there are some people there and they welcome us. When we say “Parlez vous  Anglais” we are answered by an English voice. When I say we are Australian, he answers “so I hear”. How would they know we were coming when we only knew 4 hours ago? But he is referring to my Oz accent which he recognises from having lived in Adelaide for 4 years. Ro is ecstatic to hear an English speaking person.

We settle in and join them for pre dinner drinks before having dinner and going to bed about 10pm. It is odd that it is still daylight then.

Thursday 6^th June 2013, Piriac-sur-Mer, France

The morning dawns  cloudless. It promises to be a warm day and we spend the morning collecting emails, making a skype call or two and preparing to leave. Around lunch time we drive to Piriac sur Mer, “little city of character”, as the French call it. This has to be one of the best villages we have visited. The houses are well kept. There are no unsightly electricity wires or poles and the streets are well paved in sympathetic materials. Buildings are highlighted with splashes of colour and many have flower boxes or walls with cascading greenery. Some houses have small plots in the bitumen road from which bushes grow. Street lights are old world type lanterns set on ornate wrought iron brackets supported on the houses, but with no visible wires. It is picture postcard material.

 We have been advised that the icecream shop sells glace to die for. Maybe that is saying something about the cholesterol content but we succumb and agree. We eat our glaces  by a lovely little church then continue our walk around the village. About 2pm we return to our Escargot and make tracks for our next camp site.

We drive for 2 hours and after some prompting of Thomas, arrive at our campsite….. which is closed. But the gate is open so we enter and ring a bell on the office. A few minutes later a couple arrives who speak no English and confirm that they are not open as yet.  “Can we just park here overnight” we say in hand gesticulations, a bit of French and a bit of English. We hoped to convey that we needed no power, ablutions or anything in particular. However “No Insurance” is common to all languages. Lawyers rule the world.

So we decide to decamp, although strictly speaking we had not camped at all, to the Presqu’ile de Crozon (Crozon Peninsula)  instead which is about 1 ½ hours away. As darkness descends so late, this will be no problem. Our ETA is about 8pm.

We drive down the narrow roads to which we have become accustomed. We have observed before that European drivers are unphased by the narrow roads and many career recklessly with little concern  for the available space. One such driver passes us at breakneck speed but miscalculates our separation and our rear vision mirrors thud together.  There is no damage to our mirror and, despite our stopping to wait for a driver to return if he so cho0ses, no one returns so we continue. Presumably such events are common and are par for the course. Mirrors avoid far more damaging collisions.

Crossing on to the Peninsula, we traverse a spectacular curved suspension bridge, le Pont de Terenez,  which has been built next to the old suspension bridge. Continuing on, we reach Argol where we hope to find a camp site. But there is none as it is a tiny, sleepy town. I am fairly tired from driving by now  and don’t want to drive much further but we think there will be something at Morgat, 12 km away.

But there is nothing evident there either!! Wearily we search the roads for any sign of a campsite. Finally we see a sign “Campings” which we follow and find Le Pins….. which seems closed also. But the boom gate is open so we will stay there, open or not. A quick walk around the property, a quick meal of vegetables and we bed down for the night.

 Friday 7^th June 2013,Morgat

After a very quiet night’s sleep, I hear a vehicle or two pass our van. I walk to the office and the door is open. A little later we visit the office and discover that the camp is open but there are no other tourists resident. This is a shame because we discover the showers were quite good  and we missed out on them!

However there is Wi-Fi available and we purchase ½ hour. Checking our emails we are dismayed to discover last night in Melbourne was part of  the wettest start to June on record and our tenant who flooded last week flooded again last night. This does not make for an enjoyable holiday experience. I spend the next hour talking to people in Melbourne about what can be done. To say it is distracting would be a significant understatement. But I am fortunate to have some wonderful helpers who assure me all is under control and no longer under water.  Lets hope it stays that way.

By 10 am we are ready to return to Morgat. But the rain discourages us from cycling out to the peninsula so instead we continue on for 10 km to a biscuiterie where they make some very tasty morsels we are informed. In fact it turns out to be a very nicely appointed tourist wares shop with the baking area in one corner behind glass. The test taste morsels are quite alluring and we buy a gateau about 20 cm diameter and 15 mm thick for 10.5 euro which we are told will last for a week and a bottle of apple cider.

Our next interest is , indeed, a cider making farm which the brochure says will be open from 2pm to 4pm today. Unfortunately that turns out to be wrong so instead we return to Argol as we think there is a cider museum there. This turns out to be wrong, too.  We are seeing a lot of countryside but not many attractions. Fortunately the countryside is so attractive that the lack of attractions does not matter.

We need to be in Cherbourg by 6pm Sunday so we look for two camp sites spaced appropriately. We see one at Bourseul which is near the top of Brittany  and head for that. Stopping by the spectacular bridge we crossed on the way in, we take a photo or two and have afternoon tea. We eat some of our gateau, then some more. We  suspect the one week shelf life will not be a problem.

By 7pm we arrive at our camp site. As we check in, something seems familiar. “Do you have otters in your lake?” I ask. The affirmative answer confirms that we stayed here in August last year but had thought the camp site was lower in Brittany.

It starts  raining just after we set up so we settle in for the night. Because the camp showers are some distance away we shower in the van. We discover next morning that once again we have  missed hot, untimed showers. Water seems to be conspiring against us this year. Further evidence is presented by drips of water around the front window which wet the mattress. Some sealing is required tomorrow. What have we ever done to water?

Saturday 8^th June 2013,Bourseul, France

The morning is dry so we put the mattress out to dry and do some siliconing. The morning is spent writing emails and making a skype call or two.

By lunchtime the mattress is dry enough to reassemble the van. We do that then visit a town nearby called Jugon-Les Lac (jugon on the lake). It is also labelled a “little city of character”, as was Piriac-sur-Mer but it is not as little and arguably of lesser character; but full of character none the less. We walk around various buildings and are captivated by the roofs. Perhaps it should be labelled “little city of captivating roofs” to distinguish it from all the other “…. of character”s.

We visit a shop for some bread. It sells mostly processed meats so we try another where we get some delicious custards which we eat with tea in the van. Then we visit a charity shop and there on a bookshelf is the book of the documentary I watched two years ago on the plane about the sinking of the Titanic. I found the documentary interesting so would like to read the book.

After exploring alleyways and small bridges crossing streams flowing from the lake, we drive along what we hope will be a road by the lake. However we have discovered that few roads in France capitalise on the water views available and this road is no exception. We try the road on the other side of the lake but suffer a similar fate.

Returning to our campsite we visit our otter dam. We whisper to avoid frightening the little creatures. Maybe the young otters of last year have offspring themselves. We hear a splash nearby and proceed to a bench seat. Sitting quietly we can see an otter opposite in the water. But he/she disappears and we see no other sign. It has been an otterly useless  excursion, but enjoyable.

It is 8pm and it is still as light as it would be at  4pm at home. The temperature is quite pleasant, if somewhat cool. Ro does one of her amazing meals created in miniscule space. Life is good. We retire at 11 as light finally starts to fade.

 Sunday 9^th June 2013,Bourseul, France

The morning is quite cool. There is not much point waiting here as the sun is not going to appear and we need to leave before 1pm for our ferry trip from Cherbourg. After breakfast we need to empty some tanks and fill some others and while filling we spray water on the front window to confirm the leak has been fixed. It has.

By 10.30am we leave with Thomas instructed to take us to the ferry terminal, avoiding motorways as always.

We have ¼ tank of diesel so will need some more before we arrive at the ferry. At Dinan we find a Carrfours  but as it is Sunday, we must use a credit card for the purchase. Unfortunately none of Travel Card,  Master Card nor Amex is accepted. Lucky we were not near empty as has sometimes been the case before. A bit of random driving around and we find a service station with an attendant and we can buy our fuel.

As always we are taken down local, narrow roads which are beautiful, verdant and picturesque. The French buildings never fail to enchant us and the churches, whatever their  levels of grandeur, are all amazing.

As luck would have it, when we want to stop for coffee we are on a motorway and there is nowhere to stop which is at all pleasant. By leaving the motorway we hope to find a suitable spot. Where we do exit, we have a choice to go left or right. We choose right and soon are in the hubbub of a small town which has a very large church which is packed with worshipers. Before getting too embroiled in a traffic snarl, we exit and go down the left road. Nothing much there either so we end up stopping at a roadside stop no better than on the motorway. Such is life.

By 3pm we are in Cherbourg. Signs lead us to the ferry terminal but we do not immediately see the Celtic Ferries sign. After a bit of toing and froing we locate the queue we should be in and park behind 10 or so other cars, campervans, caravans and motorbikes. I walk toward the head of the queue and see a motorhome with IRL on it. I assume the inhabitants will speak English so ask what the go is, but perhaps in a more formal way. They are very friendly and pick up that I am Australian, where they have relatives living. After a 10 minute chat I leave with a camping book of Ireland and a tip or two on what to see and where to stay.

Returning to the van,  I note a motorbike with two rugged up people bracing themselves against the wind. Ro has prepared some lunch but it seems wrong for us to be snug in our van while they are cold outside. The lady of the pair, who looks to be a similar age to us, is sitting on a post near our door. I suggest she and her partner may like to sit in our van until boarding time. She is Irish and very appreciative but explains they have been in the Austrian Alps in 4 degree conditions and this is positively balmy. Not to my thermostat. We have a chat about motorbikes and other things but they remain outside.

The queue starts to move expect for one questionable vehicle with a Brazillian Coffee sticker on it. Where the driver is we don’t know. In the usual European fashion, no one is bothered and the two queues merge into one to pass the unoccupied van.

We drive onto the ferry and take our overnight bag with us up steps to Reception. Our cabin is an outside one with two single bunks and a bathroom. It is quite austere but functional enough for our 18 hour trip.

Facilities include a cinema, with no films which appeal, a restaurant, a bar and a wifi area, in which the wifi is not working. There are also various TVs dotted about and some game machines. We will probably read for most of the voyage when we are not sleeping.

The crossing will be calm, the captain announces. We clear Cherbourg harbour by 7.15pm, passing a seawall with ruined fortresses either end, probably built in the 18^th or 19^th century as they are too dilapidated to be WWII emplacements. The building materials also look older than then.

When we checked in, there seemed to be no record of our booking so it looked like we were allocated an overflow area cabin. On deck 5 are the restaurants and bars and behind then a large number of cabins. Behind that are the engines….. and the engine vibrations. At the bow, on the deck above are many more cabins and, had we known, we would have asked for one of those. There seems to be a lot less vibration there. Perhaps, like a mother’s heart, the throb of the engines will lull us to sleep.

About 7.30 pm we go to the restaurant for dinner. It is a bit Coles Cafeteriaish but the food is generous and tasty. Ro has haddock, the taste of which is not familiar, but enjoyable. I have chicken which turns out to be curried, not my favourite.

After dinner, we play cards in our cabin for a while then walk around the deck until the cold wind gets to us. But later in the evening we go out on deck to watch the sunset AT 10.15PM!!!

A bit later I go to the bar to listen to a good folk singer with a guitar and later Ro joins me. The singer performs with 70’s type songs for 2 hours without break and we leave about midnight while he is still singing.

The vibrations do not exactly lull us to sleep but we get used to them and sleep reasonably well.

Monday 10^th June 2013,English Channel/Irish Sea

We are woken by an announcement that breakfast is available. A little more snoozing and some workers start grinding outside our cabin! Time to get up and  go to the restaurant.

There are various combinations of Irish Breakfast, mini Irish Breakfast, Continental Breakfast and Single Items. Unfortunately the Continental Breakfast which I choose  is not straightforward. If you have Yoghurt, you cannot have fresh fruit, or cerial. If you have a Danish, you cannot have cerial. If you have the fruit salad, that is a single item. Ro chooses porridge, a single item, which is easier. We approach the cashier with trepidation wondering how it will be priced. If we hadn’t selected the banana it would have been 4.90 euro, but instead it is 28.42 euro. Not quite, but confusing none the less.

After breakfast we go to check wifi. It is now working but because everyone was waiting, it is now overloaded and no passwords are available. Try again in another hour. Perhaps a bit of reading might be in order. We have our own books, we need no password, we don’t have to select between Sherlock Holms and Advanced Midwifery but not Geodesic Domes  of the Cayman Islands ; so our books will do.

As it happens we go for a promenade instead. The air is  warmer than last night so we venture to the top deck where a helipad is located. Given that this is a budget line it is unlikely that passengers will be boarding or alighting by helicopter so we can promenade with impunity. We happen upon the Irish couple with whom I had spoken in the vehicular queue. We have a short chat which is interrupted by an announcement calling for the occupants of cabin 633. “That’s us” say our friends. “Better go and find out what we have done wrong”. What is the likelihood of that?  We start chatting and out of 100s of passengers they are called!  But they return in 10 minutes or so. Perhaps they have been given the news that their camper van fell off the back of the ferry? No! They have been invited to the bridge! Apparently some years ago they complained bitterly about the food and the ferry company listened. They improved their food, offered our friends a free trip or two and a few other goodies. And now they are invited to the bridge! So complaints can pay off. We mentioned to our campsite at Bourseul that the showerheads could be of the watersaving type. Maybe we will get a free week there. Maybe not.

As we approach Rosslare I walk down to the reception area and there are our other bikie friends. Siobhan recognises me and introduces herself seeing the blank expression on my face. Ro and I had said earlier that we may not recognise them without their bike clothes as only their faces were visible. And that was the case. But once I realize who they are we have a good chat and another when Ro joins me just before disembarkation.

During the crossing we had discussed what a bun fight it must be when drivers don’t turn up to drive their vehicles out. In a repeat of when we left the boat in Croatia when the boat wanted to leave, we forget which deck the van is on. When we ask and are directed to deck 4, the vehicle in front is just leaving as we open our door. A hurried retrieval of the ignition keys ensues and we exit without excessively holding up the show.

 

Exiting Rosslare we head toward Wexford which we have been told is beautiful. It is 20 km away and as we enter we see an Aldi where we can buy some groceries. First checking that our Travel Card will be accepted, we discover it won’t. Instead we need to walk to Wexford main street to find an ATM.

The main street is underwhelming. Eventually we ask a shopkeeper where we can find an ATM. In the Heaton department store we are told. We locate that and there is a large ATM sign suspended from the ceiling. But no ATM. On the other side of the store is also an ATM sign but no ATM. We ask a store attendant and are directed to an ATM hidden between shelves. So back to Aldi and a bit later we leave for Forlorn Point at the recommendation of the Tourist Office lady.

Roads here are even narrower than in France and have foliage either side. On top of that, I am now driving a left hand drive vehicle on the right side of the road.  We have few problems other than a toot from a truck as it ran up my bumper because I was doing 40 in a 50 zone and he was doing 60 and a toot from a car for what reason we don’t know.

Forlorn Point is bleak. The wind is strong and cold. We venture out for a short walk but soon scurry back to the van and continue on to Inistioge, stopping along the way at a ruined church and graveyard.

This village is worth the visit but what we want to see is Woodstock Gardens. The pamphlets says it is open daylight hours. It is now 8pm and still daylight for 3 hours so surely they will still be open!  We drive up the steep road we recently came down and see some gates which we had guessed on the way down were the Woodstock gates. Inside the property, we drive for one kilometre and reach a boom gate. It is free to enter but 4 euro to exit. In the park we see the corpses inside cars of people who found they didn’t have 4 euro, but we check our purse first.

We are the only vehicle present. Unfortunately a “No Camping” sign prevents us staying here overnight. As we start to  walk around the property, a drizzle starts. The plastic coats we have leak around the seams but are the best we have on offer at present.

The property was built in 1700s and is an impressive property. Unfortunately, some time in the early 20^th century there was a fire and only the walls are standing, with trees and foliage growing inside. A scaffolding on the outside suggests there is a plan to refurbish it.

The drawcard is the impressive grounds which include a formal garden and tea room. After looking at other parts of the garden and walking around the derelict building we approach the formal garden which is behind a tall wall and large wrought iron gates. The tea room can be seen at the far end of the garden. But, perhaps not surprisingly, the gates are locked and the tea room closed. A bit more walking about and we leave after depositing our 4 euro.

As we drive down the one lane road, thankful that at this time no one approaches from the other direction, we see a place where we can overnight. There is no sign to suggest otherwise and rain now falling will probably deter anyone from walking past and moving us on. We have plastic ramps which we drive two of our four wheels onto to level the van. Unfortunately the slope is a bit too much so we have a not-quite-level night. Not a great inconvenience but not as nice as level.

Tuesday 11^th June 2013,Inistioge, Ireland

We awake to a cloudy but rain free morning. Travelling into the town, we have breakfast near an oval in the pretty little town then set Thomas for Kilkenny. This is billed as a medieval town but when we arrive the streets are not motorhome friendly. We stop at a McDonalds to pick up some emails then approach the Kilkenny Castle but cannot find a park so we continue on to Cahir which is an absolute gem.

Walking by the river we look at an iron bridge built in 1849 with an impressive span then walk back toward a stone bridge some years older and far more attractive. On the downstream side is Cahir Castle built in Norman times. Rather than going inside, we are interested in finding The Swiss Cottage which has been recommended to us. This is in fact nothing to do with Switzerland but was called that by the locals. It is a summer house which was built in early 1800s by John Nash, a renowned architect of the time, for the Butler family a wealthy family of aristocratic heritage but with some interesting skeletons in the closet.

The building is quite asymmetrical which, it is suggested, would have been anathema to John Nash. At that time, it was popular for gentry to emulate peasantry, albeit in an extremely up-market way. Thus the summer house is supposed to reflect the asymmetry of nature and the cheap building techniques of the peasantry.

The building was in a state of disrepair until 1985 when its architectural merit was recognised by an American benefactor. The result is beautiful and a valuable piece of history.

Our trip to Cahir has been the highlight so far.

We move on to the Rock of Cashel, which is  a group of medieval building and churches and which was once a seat of power for kings. Unfortunately  the rain starts again so we will visit it tomorrow. Now to find an overnight patch.

Exiting Cashel we find a road on which is a short driveway to an overgrown paddock gate. This will do us. It is only 6.30pm, a bit early, but it is raining so we might as well close up for the night. We fall asleep to the patter of rain.    

Wednesday 12^th June 2013,Cashel, Ireland

We want to get to the Rock of Cashel near to 9, their opening time. We vacate our site, leaving nothing but tyre prints, and a small scrapings  of yellow plastic which the rocks sheared off the ramps.

Our thought was to call into a hardware shop first but they are not open so we have breakfast in a carpark,  proceed to the Rock carpark and are in the Rock by 9.10 am.

The Rock is the structure on which forts and ecclesiastical buildings have existed from BC times. Records show that until about 900 AD timber forts were maintained by kings until stone structures replaced them  after that. In 1100AD the stone forts were given to the church which built cathedrals and other ecclesiastical structures. In the 1700s the site was abandoned as they finally admitted the weather was too inhospitable in winter. Since that time, a great deal of restoration work has been done and continues but there are still days when it is closed due to dangerous winds and conditions.

There is to be a guided tour at 10.30 and we debate whether to stay, having spent over an hour walking around the site. But we do and the guide is very knowledgable. In typical Irish fashion, he talks non stop for 50 minutes 15 to the dozen.  The chapel is historically one of the most significant in Ireland. And the Rock of Cashel is one of the most visited sites in Ireland.

We leave about 12 to drive to Blarney castle. I am used to the roads now and am unphased by having bushes brushing the mirror as we squeeze pass trucks. Should be good practice for England.

As we arrive at Blarney Castle, it starts to drizzle. This time we take some ponchos which we brought from Melbourne rather than using the rather useless slickers we used yesterday.

The castle is quite tall and has walls up to 18 feet thick! The timber roofs are missing but the walls are in tact and various rooms can be entered by climbing a stone spiral staircase. There are passages and steps and caves around every corner.

The famous Blarney Stone is actually at the top of the castle. To kiss it, one has to lie on ones back and lean out over the castle wall. Today there is an attendant and steel bars to prevent one crashing to ones death, but in times bygone, this fate befell some unfortunates. Kissing the Blarney Stone is supposed to imbue one with eloquence but the greater certainty is contracting some liquid borne disease. The modern offset to this is a spray of some antibacterial which is sprayed before each smooch.

 I was going to kiss it, but Ro said I have verbal diarrhoea anyway so she didn’t want to chance it getting worse. After all we did hear the tour guide this morning and he may well have kissed it.

By now it is raining quite heavily, so we don our ponchos. Ro has modified the heads so they look like the getup the Grim Reaper wears. While that look would not be inappropriate here, the translucence makes us look more like giant gnomes. But they do keep us dryish.

At the bottom of the castle is a garden of poisonous plants. Every information sheet has a skull and crossbones and a lot of interesting information on symptoms and effects. Great for crime writers. We also walk through other gardens which are beautiful, even in the rain. Further over is Blarney House which appears in use and which has a Private sign. It is a huge house which would cost a bob or two to maintain!

By 5 we leave to drive to Killarny about 1 hour away. We need to stay in a park tonight as we need to dump and fill tanks. There is one just near the town so that will do us. 

Arriving with plenty of daylight, we  empty and fill tanks then read before dinner and bed.

Thursday 13^th June 2013,Killarny, Ireland

We wake rather late as we had been awake at 4am doing some Skype calls. There is a promise of sunshine which rapidly fades to light rain. We have breakfast and prepare to leave.

Today we want to travel the Ring of Kerry which does a loop around  the peninsula between the Kenmare River and Dingle Bay. The scenery is reputed to be spectacular.

Leaving Killarny we start the 170 km ring and are rewarded with views of wide expanses of farmland lying on gentle slopes which rise to long low mountain ranges. Unlike farms elsewhere, paddocks are defined by lines of low tree like hedges. Further on we drive by roads which hug cliffs with spectacular views to rocky shores and across Dingle Bay to the Dingle Peninsula in the near distance.

We want to stop at a roadside stop for coffee but those we pass are full of cars. We continue and to our delight find an unoccupied area just for us. Unfortunately just as I turn off the engine, a tourist bus pulls in and the bus empties for a photo opportunity. This is not the luck of the Irish. But in 10 minutes they disappear and we enjoy the view without hordes of others.

The Ring of Kerry forms a figure of 8 with the smaller Ring of Skellig and on which town of Portmagee defines the western most point. There is also an island named Valentia which has a bridge at Portmagee and a ferry at the far end of the island.

We have a quick look at Portmagee then cross the bridge to Valentia where the roads are even narrower than others we have encountered. Irish roads we have encountered have yellow dashed lines at the outer extemeties and a centre white line with noise making bum every few meters. The lanes are sometimes so narrow that most of the time we are hitting the middle bumps. On Valentia, the smaller roads have the yellow lines but are so narrow there is no middle white line. There are some extended dirt bits which allow passing oncoming cars only if one goes bush basing. There are some even narrower ones which don’t even have yellow lines and fortunately we did not meet any cars on these. Maybe they are footpaths.

But the views to be had are even more spectacular. They include a slate mine which is very extensive and explains the preponderance of slate in the area. The rectilinear blocks of slate are fascinating. Slate is used vertically on tops of fences making them look rather inhospitable and quite secure. Slate chips are used around gardens and as pebbles on large expanses.

We return to Portmagee where we find a small pub and have a late lunch of fish and chips and roast beef. Both have large quantities of potatoes!! We also have a glass of Guiness each.

In order to keep our journey moving toward Dublin, we need to get to Dingle tonight. This involves retracing our steps along the Ring of Kerry rather than completing the loop. It is a 2 hour drive to Dingle where there is another loop via Slea Head of only 12 km to the most westerly point of Europe, it is said.

Before searching for an overnight area we stop for tea and biscuits just past Dingle and watch some children skilfully playing with a bat whose like we have not seen before. It looks somewhat like a short hockey stick with a spoon instead of a curve. They hit a ball similar to a tennis ball in size.

The 12 km drive is along raged cliff tops with sweeping views of the sea. Various cliff top parks promise appropriate stopping places and we eventually  we choose one with a magnificent sea view. This has to be our best overnight stop ever. Our only concern is wind which proves not to be a problem. A sign warning of falling rocks is also of passing concern but we think it would have to be a big rock to push us off.

It is also the quietest night we have had.

Friday 14^th June 2013,Slea Head, Ireland

If the van’s a’rockin…….. we have struck a windy patch. It is and we have. A strong wind off the sea carries driving rain and our breakfast view to die for is obscured by mist. But very special.

I brave the elements to pack away our ramps. The driving rain bites on the windward side but on the leeward side it is dry and not too cold. We get on the road by 9am and continue along the Slea Point loop back to Dingle. The rain continues , obscuring  the magnificent views behind a diaphanous veil  of mist.  It is a shame the blue skies of yesterday could not have continued.

It is our intention to  travel to the Moher Cliffs today, taking a ferry across the Shannon River at Tarbert, a 4 km voyage. However, at Dingle we visit the tourist centre and are persuaded to go via Bunratty to look at the 15^th century Bunratty Castle and folk village of 30 buildings.

It is still raining heavily when we arrive at 3.30 pm. Last admissions are at 4pm and the castle closes at 4.30pm for the Irish Banquet. It is too wet to walk around the village so we decide the 25 euro admission can be better spent.

We ask about the banquet which we expect is booked out. It is. But the Traditional Irish Night, a similar thing has 4 vacancies so we book for that. It includes a 4 course meal and Irish entertainment. It starts at 7 and goes until 9.30. It includes unlimited wines, so maybe we will have to stay in the carpark tonight  to comply with Irish road laws.

The two hours until 7pm we spend reading and doing the odd job. By 6.45 we are changed into what we think are more appropriate clothes and ready to return to the village.

The Traditional Irish Night is in the corn barn, one of the village buildings. It has a thatched roof, exposed roof trusses and heavy wooden tables. There are two tour groups plus a handful of couples. We are seated next to a South African couple about our age with whom we chat throughout the evening.

We are ushered in with a glass of mead or Carolans Irish Cream. The performers, dancers, musicians and the compare double as waiters and waitresses. We start with a green salad during which we hear and see Irish dances and songs. The main course is salmon or Irish stew. Ro has the salmon and I have the stew. Both are nice. Traditional apple pie, or rather commercially produced slice, with cream follows. There are more dances, songs, the odd joke and amusing dialogue between the courses. Coffee or tea completes the evening with more entertainment. We thoroughly enjoy the evening and are back in the van about 9.45.   Once again  it is a bit odd leaving the artificially dark venue for daylight outside.

Saturday 15^th June 2013, Bunratty, Ireland

We awake to rain. Not surprising, really. It is early so we get started for the Cliffs of Moher, about 1 hour away.

It is nice being on the roads when no one else is. This being a Saturday helps that. We resolve to do this more often! Not unlike a New Year’s resolution, I suspect.

As yet we have not had breakfast but, reaching our destination,  there is a break in the rain and it seems a good idea to look at the cliffs before breakfast.

Just to be safe, we rug up in jumpers, coats, plastic pants and waterproof coats. In Ireland  we have learnt it is wise to be safe. As it happens, the rain is not a problem for the moment but the wind is. It howls and is quite chilly.

Walking along the top of the cliffs, a stone wall between us and the 200 metre drop to the sea, we are buffeted by the strong winds. We watch birds in their hundreds soar on the winds. As they don’t appear to be hunting prey, their speed dashes and soaring antics seem only to be for shear pleasure. Our pleasure is viewing the magnificent rugged  cliffs with the sea pounding at their bases crashing upward in spray to be is carried away on the winds. 

There has been a break in the weather and we have had no rain. But not far away is a dark cloud threatening to dump its load over us soon. Hurrying against the wind to the visitor centre we spend time looking at an attractive and informative display, housed in a building sculpted into the hill.

They have wifi and we need to pick up some emails. The threatening cloud has disappeared and it is still clear so we walk back to the van some 300 metre away in the car park to get the computer. We still have not had breakfast and the wifi is available to customers only. This will do for breakfast. Traditional apple pie (we have heard that before) and coffee will do us while we get our emails.

The pie is far better than last night, but the wifi won’t connect despite the staff checking the transmitter . It seems that wifi is still a bit of a novelty in Ireland.

Our next point of interest is The Burren which is a limestone outcrop of rock in whose crevices  sub tropical plants thrive. The weather is still holding and we even have blue sky and sunshine. The breeze is not so icy but still strong and the spray from the waves carries some distance because we are only 10 or 15 metres above sea level.

After 45 minutes of rock hopping and photographing of plants we return to the van for lunch. Just as we start our lunch, the skies close in and it rains heavily. A new busload of sightseers tumbles out of their coach but only stays briefly.  The rain sets in.

As we have realised that we will run out of time to complete the itinerary we had in mind, we set our course for Drogheda, just above Dublin and some 4 hours drive away. Newgrange near by , is the site of monolithic monuments older than the pyramids or Stonehenge and dates back to 3200 BC.

The roads are typically narrow and frequent buses cause us to hug close to the shoulder. Some shoulders are not shoulders to which one would naturally gravitate. On a few occasions, we need to stop in an indentation as a vehicle squeezes by.   

Because we were not able to get our emails, we visit the Irish equivalent of McDonalds to use their wifi. We can use 10 minutes before purchasing something. I suggest we buy some icecreams before we start. This we do, but once again, the wifi does not work. They turn the system on and off as any professional IT trouble shooter would do. But still no go. The manager informs us that he cannot remember when anyone actually used the wifi.

We continue. After another ½ hour driving we come to Athlone and there is a Sheraton Hotel there. We enter and ask about wifi, explaining we are not guests. If we buy something we can use the system……

A waiter asks what we would like and we truthfully say nothing except the wifi but one coffee will do as we are still repleat from the apple pie, coffee and icecream from the two previous  wifi providers. He says not to worry and gives us a code for one hour of wifi, which works!

Now repleat and enlightened, the remaining 1 ½ hour drive can be completed. Thomas informs us we will arrive at 8.36pm and we contemplate finding a pub instead for dinner and a Guiness or two. But instead we stop with 30 minutes to drive and look for an overnight spot to stop.

Taking a side road, we come across an incomplete house which is unoccupied. Surely no one will bother if we park here for the night. We eat a light dinner before a car arrives behind our van. A toot on the horn encourages me to exit and talk to the occupant. She is the owner of the house. I explain that we are Australian travellers and we hoped we could stay the night here. I say we will happily move on if she would prefer. But she is happy for us to stay and I thank her, apologising for inconveniencing her.

The night is not as cool as last night and there is no wind. We will sleep well.

Sunday 16^th June 2013, Cloughbrack, Ireland

The tourist information advises an early attendance at Newgrange as visitors are transported by bus to the sites and the numbers are limited. To achieve this, we set an alarm for 7.15am but wake up before anyway.

Leaving our squatter parking spot, we arrive at Newgrange by 8am. The park has no boom gates so we can enter and have breakfast before the visitor centre opens at 9am.

There is a long pathway beneath a timber trellis which is very well done, as turns out to be the whole site. As we approach the visitor centre which will open in 5 minutes, there is a rockery with cascading water.  The experience is strangely reminiscent of the Necropolis cemetery at Springvale. They could easily utilize some of this design.

The visitor centre is an architecturally pleasing and functional building. It has a display section, the ticket foyer, a café and the obligatory souvenir shop. There are two appealing helical stairways which connect the two floors.

When entering, we must choose to visit Newgrange, Knowth or both. Choosing both, we are affixed with two bus times, not unlike what one would do to kindergarten children. We are told to be at the bus stop when the big hand points to…….. well not quite but we do have a bit of time to look at the exhibition first before walking over an attractive suspension walkway over the Boyne River and a similarly aesthetically pleasing timber walkway over the flood plain adjacent to the river.

24 passengers are allocated to a bus which drives us 4 or 5 kilometres to Knowth. The grounds are well maintained and the site is well set up for visitors without being overcrowded, thanks to the control exercised by bussing people in and out. A guide will provide information for 30 minutes then we can wander around for 15 or 20 minutes before the bus returns us.

The site dates back to 3200BC and consists of an 80 metre circular structure created from large rocks and covered by a dome of earth. Similar in some ways to Australia’s Parliament House but on a rather smaller scale. Rocks weighing up to 4 tonnes were moved from some kilometres away by teams of Neolithic men using rollers. The engineering was quite advanced with an understanding of structural integrity and drainage requirements. It is thought that they were built for pagan religious ceremonies to celebrate the seasons and probably were built over some generations.

Our next trip is to Newgrange, 4 or 5 kilometres in the opposite direction. This site is similar but here we can venture into the monument via the stone tunnel which is aligned with the sun at the equinox. The chamber to which the 20 metre passage leads is about 8 metre diameter and 6 meter high with 3 smaller chambers in which are rock carvings and a large carved stone bowl. Inside the chamber is completely dry, a miracle in itself in Ireland, the guide says, and has been for 5000 years! It has never been cleaned but looks as it would have when it was built. There is no soot, suggesting fire was not used there. To give us an idea of the effect at the equinox, the inside electric lights were turned off. After a moment of pitch blackness, another light simulating a rather weak sun was turned on. There is a raffle called the Newgrange lotto where each year 50 people are selected from whose filling in the forms available and may attend an equinox ceremony in the chamber in October. This would surely be very special. Just being in the chamber is special enough.

Returning by bus from Newgrange after one hour, we have lunch in the café before spending a little more time in the exhibition. As with everything else here, the exhibition is very informative and very well done.

By 2pm we leave to drive to Camac Valley camping area just outside Dublin which has been recommended to us. We can get a hop-on-hop-off bus ticket for 2 days and the bus will pick us up and deliver us back to the campsite. It will be nice not to have to drive for a few days.

We are set up by 4.30pm and can now enjoy a quiet afternoon.  As we have wifi for the two days we are here, we can also catch up on some emails and other communications. Furthermore, we can book two tickets on line to the Guinness factory at 10% discount.

Monday 17^th June 2013, Dublin, Ireland

I awake at 5.45am to make some skype calls and don’t get back to sleep before we have to get up at 8am, ready for our HopOnHopOff bus at 9.30am.  It is raining consistently and not exactly lightly but by the time we have had breakfast, the rain has almost stopped. Later during the commentary on the bus it is stated that Dublin only had rain twice last week: once for 3 days and once for 4 days. It rains a lot in Ireland. An average of 3 inches per month.  The temperature is an average 15 degrees which Dubliners think is neither too hot nor too cold. I don’t agree.

By 9.30 our double decker red bus arrives. The top is open, a product of Irish optimism in the face of obverse reality. But there are three undercover rows of seats on top so we select two of those, pleased we are rugged up.

Our trip is through a traffic jam. At one stage a police vehicle must pass through the mess. Presumably the strong Catholic influence helps because, not unlike the Red Sea, vehicles hug together, a pathway opens  and the vehicle passes, with the sea of traffic resuming after its passage. The analogy stops there as I did not see anyone drown following the closure.

Our first stop is at Trinity College where we want to see “The Book of Kells”. This is a manuscript of the four Gospels which was crafted in 800 AD in Latin but with some letters magnificently decorated.

Wandering across the college from our bus stop we pass beautiful grounds and wonderful buildings. As we approach the library, a Man in Black with an earpiece tells us that the library is closed today until 2 pm. There seems to be a lot of security about and the further we go the more security is evident. The penny drops. I heard on the bus radio that President Obama is visiting Ireland and no doubt he wants to see the book, obviously unaware that we do too. But we acquiesce and go back to our HOHO bus to go to the Guinness Storehouse. Along the way we pass a hotel where there is also an inordinate amount of security. But we were not staying there so no problems.

Alighting the bus at stop 13 which is opposite the Storehouse, we look about for it. After questioning a passer by or two we find out it is actually five blocks away. Later we surmise that the map we are looking at with green buses is not the map we need for red buses. As we reach the Storehouse, one of our HOHO buses stops outside. As they say Maps ain’t Maps.

The Guinness   story starts 250 years ago when stout was invented in London. Arthur Guinness decided he could make a quid or two so leased  64  acres for 9000 years at 45 pounds per annum. A fortune then. Nothing now. This was not the only for ward thinking enterprise embarked on by the Guinness family. In 1904, the Guinness family built a substantial  block of dwellings for their workers including a child care centre, public baths and  a crèche.   Today Guinness is a huge industrial complex in the middle of Dublin making 4 million pints of beer a day. The seven storey building which houses the tourist facility was a fermentation plant from 1904 to 1988. Inside the theme is very industrial with exposed riveted steel columns and girders and bits of equipment showing the manufacturing process including huge copper boilers, newer stainless steel tanks and numbers of large pipes  with valves. The centre of the building is made to look like a huge pint glass.

After an hour or so of looking at processes over some of the levels and tasting some of the stouts they produce, we have the opportunity to pour ourselves a pint of draught Guinness using the 6 steps required to draw the perfect beer. We receive a certificate and drink the beer. Ro too!!!!! A pint and a bit of Guinness is more alcohol than Ro has ever had at one sitting and she is ever so slightly merry and a little woosey.

Unsteadily we make our way to the Gravity Bar which affords a 360 degree view of Dublin. The highest building is only about 10 or 15 storeys high so the view is excellent.

By 3 pm we exit the building but have limited time to return to stop 1 for our return to the park. We check that the bus will get back before the other leaves . It will so we take it and arrive at stop 1 with 30 minutes to spare. Unfortunately that gives us insufficient time to do anything much so we sit on a bench and watch Dublin action.

The trip back to the park is not as slow as the trip in. We arrive by 5pm and go for a walk. The day is still clear and tomorrow is forecast to be clear. We have another day with our HOHO bus tomorrow  then we get the ferry tomorrow night to Wales, arriving 20 past midnight.  A good night’s sleep tonight will help.

Tuesday 18^th June 2013, Dublin, Ireland

Something’s wrong! The sky is clear and the sun is shining and there are no rain clouds to be seen. But we will cope….somehow.

By 9.15am we have parked the van in the car park ready to board our HOHO bus for another day full of fun and excitement, as the ad on the bus tells us.

Because the sun is out, we can sit outside in relative warmth. The locals are in short sleeve shirts, shirts and thongs so they think it is warm. We are still in heavy long sleeved shirts, jumpers and fully zipped up coats. The warmth of the sun slowly induces us to unzip our coats.

Today there is little traffic on the inward journey, making us wonder if yesterday’s jam was due to Obama’s visit. Instead of traffic on the inward journey, we get stuck in traffic on the trip between stops.

Our plan is to visit the Book of Kells at Trinity first but the sunshine seduces us into staying aboard for a full circuit. The view of the building facades is excellent and the lack of clouds only stands to enhance that. Dublin has grown on us. It oozes character, which, with its history is unsurprising. Among many things, we love the Irish names of the shopkeepers, often  written in gold above the shop fronts.

Once we reach Stop 1 again we debate getting off the bus and walking as yesterday we  experienced some long waits at stops before bus left. Our debate is cut short by the sudden motion of the bus so we travel a kilometre or so then get off. We want to visit Temple Bar, a pedestrian precinct of shopping. It is not the shopping which interests us but The Stag’s Head pub which is largely unchanged since 1895. Our plan is to have lunch there if it is not crowded out.

As we ponder our map, rotating it in all directions to try to make sense of it, as all truly lost tourists do, a local inquires if we are indeed lost and we ask directions to the Stag’s Head. He walks some distance out of his way to direct us correctly. We part with a thankyou and a comment about how helpful we have found him and his fellow countrymen. He appreciates the comment and wishes us well.

There is a lovely mosaic in the footpath which points us to the pub. It is down a covered way. We find the pub and are surprised that it is almost empty. A few regulars and a very helpful barmaid are the only occupants. We order a Guinness each (yes, each) and sit down to wait for lunch which the barmaid says is a bit behind today. We are unconcerned as the atmosphere is very enjoyable, with its oak panelling, original bar and eclectic light fittings.

We enjoyed the Guinness stew so much yesterday that we order Guinness pies again today.  Guinness seems to have made a killing with us. It is very clever to entice tourists to a huge marketing event which they volunteer to pay for then to start them on a path of consuming their product.

Walking to Trinity College, we enter from a different gate and walk to the library. The queue is mercifully short and soon we have out tickets. A ticket control gate bars our entry. It says to present our ticket for reading but the machine must like  our faces because it opens anyway. Wanting to do the right thing I present the ticket to the reader while the gate patiently remains open. I present what appears to be a cross between a series of four standard bar codes and a 2 d bar code. The scanner still shows no sign of recognition but the gate remains open. Inspecting the ticket again, the code it could not read turns out to be a stylized image of the library.  I give up and we walk through the gates which close behind us. Technology can spot a luddite at 50 paces.

Leading into the  Book of Kells  is a lot of reading about what, why and how. The room where the Book or more to the point books are is low level lighting for protection of the artefacts. The Books themselves are somewhat underwhelming, but Ro says 97% of philistines think that. Above the Book room is the Long Room which is a library built in 1713 which contains 200,000 extremely delicate texts. Sixty or so bays run off the central hall and are indexed and accessed by tall ladders on rails. An Irish harp is being played at the end of the Long Room. This is more my scene. We sit and enjoy the ambience, barely disturbed by the 3 or 400 others crowded into the space. This was well worth the visit.

It is 3pm and our bus returns to Camac Valley at 4.20. Trinity is on the south bank but the walk is only a kilometre or two across the river to the north side. On the way we walk along the river to Halfpenny Bridge which we cross. With the 10 remaining minutes before the bus, it seems appropriate to buy a pair of shoes as my track shoes are leaking. Enticed by Sale signs, we buy a pair of shoes not on sale for 110 euro. The sales girl says they are waterproof, although we cannot see anything which attests that. Later we find a label  which tells us they are. I now have Parisian boots made in Bolivia and Dublin shoes made in China. But no one need know that. 

By the time we get back to the van it is 5.30 pm and we leave immediately for the ferry. Our drive takes us through the city by the river and past Halfpenny Bridge again. Further on we see the suspension bridge completed relatively recently the suspension of which is made to look like an Irish harp.  The main support is the backbone and the support cables are the strings. It is very effective but trees prevent us taking a photo as we pass which is a pity.

The queue is short when we join it in preparation for boarding in 1 ½ hours. We leave at 8.55 and by 8.30 there is no sign of movement. But suddenly the full car park starts to empty as trucks, buses, cars, caravans and motorhomes stream across a large bridge into the bow of the ferry.

This ferry is the largest ferry into Ireland. It has 12 decks, is 50,000 tonnes 200 metre long and has 4.5 kilometre of vehicle lanes.  Our van is one of the last to load but nevertheless the ferry leaves  on time.

The ship is huge in our limited experience. The sea is so calm that it is not perceptible that we are on a huge moving object. First we explore our environment for the next 3 hours. As with the Celtic Lines ferry, there is a cinema, various eating spots, various bars and lounges and some games areas. As the ship is named after James Joyce’s book Ulysses, there are some plaques about Joyce’s life. We will seek out the 12 plaques later.

It is getting on to 9.30pm and, despite a large lunch, or maybe because of it, I feel like dinner. On the menu is Guinness pie. When I was at school, I had cheese sandwiches for lunch every day for years. With that background, it comes as no surprise I chose the pie again. Something to do with OC disorder probably.

We while away the hours, including a short nap in the lounge chair area. We awake from our naps to the announcement we are arriving at Holyhead and will disembark shortly. As hundreds of people funnel down the steps to the vehicle decks, we join the throng  and within a short time are back in our van. A few minutes after that the motorhome in front of us moves off and we follow. All very efficient and quick.

We have already given Thomas instructions on where to take us to an overnight park. This he does once he realises we are in Wales now.

The overnight park is a long term park which is only minutes from the ship. Within 30 minutes or so we are ready for bed after our showers. 

Wednesday 19^th June 2013 Holyhead, Wales

We sleep in until 9am  before eating breakfast and getting on the road. Our first stop is Lidl but an enquiry of one of the shop attendants tells us that they don’t accept euro and our card generally does not work at Lidl.

Plan B is implemented. We will travel to Bangor to see the Menai Suspension Bridge, buying some gas along the way and getting some money from a hole in the wall.

Without too much effort we get to our gas stop and, wonder of wonders, we get gas. Unlike the fiasco we had two years ago to get gas. We are using very little so this may do us until the end of this year’s trip. The hole in the wall is less helpful and refuses to give us cash.

At Bangor we try another hole in the wall and it will give us cash. Then to Lidl which, uncharacteristically, does accept our card. Back to the bridge where we have coffee and walk over the bridge. It was opened in 1826 following a long history of cost increases which left it unfinished for many years. The engineer, Thomas Telford, lived to see it completed but died in his 70s five or six years after its opening.

Our next stop is Blaenau FFestiniog where there is an  historic narrow gauge steam train ride through the Snowdonia National Park available. Unfortunately  the trip will take up most of the day so we are too late today.

There is a camp site by a river near by so we head there. We can camp right by the river which is quite fast flowing. We will have the  water to serenade us tonight. Making camp by 4.30, we have time for a very picturesque walk along the banks. It is nice to have some spare time.

Thursday 20^th June 2013 Blaenau FFestiniog, Wales

The night is quite cool and the morning overcast. We have breakfast with the sound of the water then pack up and are on our way back to FFestiniog by 10am.

The railway ticket office is not open so we go in search of wifi. A very quaint Welsh café has free wifi once the obligatory cup of coffee is purchased. It is furnished with eclectic pieces of old furniture. A few emails later and we are on our way to the ticket office.

For 38 GBP we can travel the 13 miles or so to Porthmadog, stopping along the way at Tan-y-Bwlch. The train leaves in 15 minutes at 11.50AM.

There are First Class and Third Class tickets, presumably there being no Second class in Welsh. The extra 24 GBP return for First Class does not seem worth it. The seats are more like arm chairs in First but the view looks to be obscured by the headrest wings which seems rather to defeat the purpose of the journey.

The trip to Tawney Bitch (we are still working on our Welsh pronunciation) is delightful. Unhurried with the click clack of wheels across rail joins and the occasional smell of burnt coal. On long curves we see the locomotive with its string of carriages. The carriages are old world and we have selected a dining car with tables for four one side of a narrow aisle and tables for two on the other side. The scenery is beautiful with tall mountains of mined grey slate among verdant forests.

At 12.20 we arrive  at Tawney and  it is sufficiently close to lunch to eat in the railway café. Like railway cafes the world over, the food is not write-home stuff. On top of that, we are in UK for which culinary pursuits are not known to  rate highly. There are beef baps on the menu with onions. Ordering it without onion means we are provided a roll with three pieces of dry beef inside. The lack of onion in the bap is compensated by excessive onion in the salad.

Replete but gastronomically unsatiated we go for a walk along forested tracks down to a lake, the water in which is not particularly cold. Had we more time, I would have been tempted to take a swim. After a steep walk back to the platform, we board our train at 2.10 for the trip to Porthmadog which is as enjoyable as the first half.

The little train steams in to at our destination at 14.55, leaving us one hour until our return journey. Some rain curtails our exploration of Porthmadog but we don’t feel we have missed a lot. At 4pm we reboard for the return trip.

By 5.30pm we are in the van at Ffestiniog boiling the billy for a cup of tea. We want to travel to Llangollen for a canal trip  tomorrow. It is about 1 hour away and it is raining again and misty. About 5 km from Llangollen, we take a promising turn off which leads over a multi arched stone  bridge then to a car park near a river where we can overnight. It is nothing like last night but will do us for the few hours we need to sleep.

Friday 21st June 2013 LLangollen, Wales

 The rain is quite heavy overnight but has cleared by morning and the temperature is quite balmy. After breakfast we drive into Llangollen to where the canal port should be. A sign says we are here but the white water river looks a bit excited for a horse drawn canal boat.

After a bit of walking hither and yon, we find the canal some 50 metres above the river. It is 10am and there are seats available for 2 pm. Maybe it is better to visit Powis Castle, an hour away, today as there is some event there tomorrow and crowding is likely. That decided, we purchase tickets for a canal boat ride tomorrow and are ready to leave.

However Ro is feeling a bit off colour and suspects she may have some gastro so we walk to a local pharmacy through the delightfully bustling  village of Llangollen.

Medication in hand (actually in mouth) we head for Powis and arrive about 11am which is when it opens. As we are a motorhome, we are ushered to the far reaches of the car park, not what Ro really needs. At the ticket box we purchase tickets for 25GBP before an off hand comment by one of the attendants induces us to buy instead a National Trust yearly subscription for 92GBP which will give us free access to many Trust homes across England, Wales and Scotland. Also across Ireland, but we are a bit late for that. And across Australia, for that matter, as they have reciprocal rights.  

The castle opens at 12.30 but the gardens are open now. They are extensive,  beautiful and varied. After a pleasant hour of walking, with frequent rests, Ro is running low on energy. She has just enough to visit the castle, museum and coach house before she needs to return to the van. The castle was extensively renovated on 1904 and not a great deal has been done since then. Despite this, the frescos, paintings, wood panelling and carpets are in very good condition. With all the wood panelling, the interior is quite dark and gloomy but a good impression of what life there would have been like was apparent. One area is a museum full of trinkets, weapons and art works from 19^th century India and is one of the best collections in UK.

As we leave, Ro is on her last legs. There is a courtesy car for disabled but we explain Ro’s malaise and the driver is happy to ferry us to the van at the far end of the car park, for which Ro is very grateful.

We need a camp tonight with dumping and filling facilities and some power to vacuum the van. There is a camp site near Llangollen for tomorrow’s canal trip. Setting Thomas for a camp site near the village, we arrive about 4pm. Unfortunately the camp site is only for Caravan Club members so we are directed to another which thankfully is even closer to the wharf we need tomorrow and has all we need, except wifi. We will spend a comfortable night here.

Saturday 22nd June 2013 LLangollen, Wales

Again, plenty of rain in the night but clear in the morning. We have plenty of time and we are only 15 minutes from the Wharf. Ro has time to wash her hair under an untimed, temperature variable shower. It doesn’t get better than this. Perhaps a lesser odour of Lysol could marginally improve the experience.

First stop is our friendly pharmacist from yesterday because I have managed to inhale some spores which my system does not like. Talfast which fixes it fast in Australia is not an over the counter medication so he gives me second best. Well second best as it turns out.

We have parked in a church yard for 50p. They augment their parish coffers by selling parking space where the council provides none. As they say, seek and the Lord will provide. Although, as yet I am not an out and out convert. Whether I am booked by a gray bomber or an angle with wings makes little difference to me.

I also have time to check emails at the local library which has computer access to the internet but not wifi. Returning to the van, I find Ro resting as she is still not 100%. The walk to the canal is not too arduous and we arrive with just enough time to order some lunch to have on board our narrow boat.

By 12.15 we are sitting at a table for 1 ½ but with two small seats. There are tables for 2 ½ which seat 4 supposedly. Some patrons don’t exactly fit the narrow seats which makes squeezing past them, when traversing the length of the boat, quite a squeeze. The protocol required for canal boats traversing the canals is mirrored by the protocol required by the passengers.

Our trip starts with a bit of balancing of the load, once again reminiscent of what we had to do on our boat. Two passengers on the starboard side are requested to move to port to level up the boat. The narrow boat is 72 feet (the maximum permitted) long with a 7 feet beam. 

Sitting at our table, our eyes are about 700mm above the water. Our seat is about water level. The canals are about 3 feet deep and the boat draft is about 2 ft. Ducks share the canal with no concern for the boats passing by.

We start down the canal at a speed little more than walking pace and continue at this speed or slower. We cover 5 miles in 2 hours and the unhurried pace is very relaxing. We meet other narrow boats along the way as the canal is two way. There are 500 yard sections  where boars cannot pass and the protocol is that one of the passengers should walk the 500 metre to inform other boats they are using that section of the canal once it is free. It does not always work and our skipper said bumps are not uncommon and occasionally two boats get jammed requiring a winch to free them. We have one near collision on a blind corner under a bridge, but the skipper says that is par for the course.

Some of the trip is spent at the stern with the skipper. Looking along the 72 foot length of the narrowboat, it is evident that some skill in steering is required. We get a few tips as we would like to hire one some time.

The views across the countryside are beautiful. There are walkways against one side of the canal so many walkers are seen. These tracks once were for the horses which towed the boats. There is a horse drawn narrow boat cruise available as an alternative to the one we have taken but it does not cross the Pontcysyllte  aquaduct which our trip does.

We have ordered vegetable soup and bread as a light meal and it is heated on board and brought to us half an hour into the journey. It is delicious and filling. 

Toward the end of our trip we approach the aquaduct. This is a bridge with an iron canal on top. It was built from 1795 to 1805 to allow the canal system to function as intended for carrying cargo. The narrowboats could carry 20 or more times more cargo than could a horse and wagon using the same number of horses. Nevertheless there were those who said the system would never work and it must have taken a great deal of courage to build such infrastructure. The canals were a great success until the railways started to erode their market share due to shorter transport times. The canals were again used in WW2 as Britain utilized all its resources but fell into disrepair thereafter. In the 1960s there was a move to repair the canals for recreational use and they have never looked back.

We cross over the aquaduct, still with 95% of its original seals and structure. The skipper warns us against all moving to one side to avoid capsizing the boat. From on top of the aquaduct, it would be one hell of a capsize.

We are bussed back to our starting point and walk back to the van.

Our plan is to drive tonight to an area near Pembroke, about 4 hours away. This we do, taking the odd break  as driving is quite tiring along the narrow roads. Hedges either side mean that on corners, it is impossible to see what is around them.

By 7.45 we are near our camp site. But near enough is not good enough here. The hedges either side are higher than the van and it is like driving down a maze. We stop near where we are supposed to be but there are no signs. Fortunately, a lady leans out of Cross Cottage at the intersection and asks if we are lost. We say we are looking for Tything Barn. She cheerfully directs us there and says she is always directing lost people.

Arriving at Tything Barn we are welcomed by the proprietors and shown the amenities and some of the sights and walks. It is a bit late tonight but we will explore the area tomorrow.

Sunday 23rd June 2013 Pembrokeshire, Wales

The wind is quite fierce when we wake but lessens by the time we have finished breakfast. The site was originally a quarry and there are extensive walking tracks, some around a lake with two islands. The lakes are mostly fresh water but are occasionally inundated with sea water from the tidal estuary. Large areas of  mown grass make the area very appealing. Unfortunately the overcast, windy conditions lessen the appeal today. The walk is very enjoyable none the less.

By lunch time we leave intending to visit some areas on the Gower Peninsula which is heritage listed. Along the way we visit a famous surf beach, Llanelli where we have a late lunch. Ro has cod which is delicious and I have lasagne which is British. Continuing on we search for the beautiful sights which the tourist publications have promised us, but they are illusive.

By 7.45 we are looking for our camp site. It is called Croes Robert Farm Far Hill. We find a Croes Robert Farm House but that is not what we want. After 15 minutes we admit defeat and we end up stopping at a clearing along one of the maze like hedged lanes.  There is a gate near by which proves to be a walking trail….. marked as Croes Robert Nature Reserve. It seems there are many Croes Robert this and that’s in the area, so we will settle for Croes Robert Nature Reserve. The name is not far removed from our intended stopover anyway.

Monday 24rd June 2013 Trelleck, Wales

After a quiet night we awaken early. We will get underway and have breakfast at Painswick, our first scenic stop. We are there by 8.00 and have breakfast in a rather delightful bituminised carpark. Well, not hugely delightful but functional.

Unfortunately Ro is quite under the weather. The fish and chips from yesterday’s lunch caused indigestion the whole night and unsurprisingly affected adversely her sleeping.  She does not feel like trekking around the village so I go alone. First port of call is the library, a 1700s odd old building, for some rather more contemporary wifi. They don’t have it but I can use the computers there. But the attendant does not know how to turn them on and they are only available on Wednesdays and she does not suppose I want to wait until then. Such perspicacity. Instead she points me to the tourist office, a hole in the wall room next to the hole in the wall library. They do not have wifi but I can use the computer. That I do and then return to the van to see if Ro is up to walking. She isn’t so I continue my walking tour.

The town is billed by Lonely Planet as an unspoiled gem and that is a perfect description. I walk through the church yard with its sculpted yew trees which were planted in 1700s. A tomb inside the church is dated 1609. Walking further around the narrow streets, the buildings are as they were many hundreds of years ago. Quite a different feel from similarly aged buildings we have seen elsewhere but captivating. Especially from our perspective as Australians who see none of this compared with the locals  who live with this antiquity on a daily basis.

On returning to the van again, Ro wants to see some of the village so raises herself from her sickbed to see some of the sights. The village is built on top of a hill so streets are quite steep, which is not what she needs. Some judicious choice of areas where hills are not excessive enables her to get a feel for this wonderful little village.

We move on to Blenheim Castle, about one hour away. The grounds are expansive to say the least and not what we need to do today. We will instead overnight in the area and return tomorrow.

Chipping Norton is about twenty minutes away and on Ro’s list. Lonely Planet thinks it is a bit commercialised and we agree. We drive through without exploring instead choosing to return to Woodstock, Blenheim’s local village, to explore that further.

It is also wonderful to walk through. The buildings are in good repair and very quaint. There are many galleries and antique shops which are closed but the window shopping is superb. One shop has a window full of  tea pots in all sorts of shapes; an old fashioned phone, a sewing machine, a tractor, a narrowboat, a wheelbarrow and numerous others.

By now it is about 8pm. Oxford is only 12 miles away and we think evening might be a good time to drive through as we have been warned it is bedlam usually. It transpires 8pm is still usual because it is still bedlam. We bail out and return to Woodstock to find a camp site.

Earlier we had visited a camp site but like the other night it was a Caravan Club site and we could not stay there. We saw a sign later that we could join on the spot but we have moved on now.

Where we move on to is a small track which has a log at the end. We can’t be in anyone’s way here. Wrong! A farmer pulls up and suggests we should not be camping here. We say we were planning to spend the night here. After a short discussion, he is happy for us to stay if we leave nothing behind. We have discovered that occupants of gypsy caravans can have clout if they speak proper.   

Tuesday 25th June 2013 Woodstock, England

The day is sunny! We leave our site by 8.30 and are at the palace before 9.

Parking near an entrance gate, we have breakfast and will wait until the gates open. We are disturbed by a knock on the door informing us that this is private property and we cannot park here. Explaining that we are waiting for the gates to open so we can go in, we are informed that they are open now. If we pay our daily entrance fee we can go in.

Paying our fee is not so simple. The technology fails and he cannot print tickets. There is a deal on whereby a daily ticket can be swapped for a one year pass. We opt for that and, after paying,  are directed to the booth where the conversion can take place.

The palace is the usual awe inspiring over the top grandeur. The areas we can look at are in beautiful condition and the gardens are magnificent. Overall, it is  probably the best palace of the five or six we have seen. The palace was a gift from a grateful Queen Anne to the Duke of Marlborough following a victorious battle at Blenheim (Anglicised name) where the superpower French were defeated. The queen granted the grounds and offered to pay for a house of appropriate grandeur. The grandeur turned out to be somewhat excessive and no such offers were subsequently  made .

First we pass through an exhibition dedicated to Winston Churchill. Included are copies of paintings done by him. He was quite an accomplished painter and it was one of his loves in life but a pursuit he believed he had much to learn about. Also are greetings cards painted by him and distributed through Hallmark through a friendship with its founder. A lot of persuasion by Hallmark was required to get Winston’s permission.

There is a tour, given by a dapper Englishman who speaks without pause for the 45 minute duration. His mannerisms, gesticulations and the odd one liner make for a very camp but informative performance. 

There is a second tour of the palace which is an audio visual immersion tour. We are ushered through one door at a time into rooms which are made up to show various aspects of the palace’s history; from building to current times. Character actors speak to us from wall monitors telling us various stories.

On completion of the tours we venture into the very extensive grounds. Our first walk is around the large lake which was built by ‘Capability’  Brown. Up to 7 metres deep, it holds ½ million cubic metres of water. There is a rose garden along the way and a cascade at one end which one can hear from some distance away, an intended requirement of his design.

Further over from there is a Secret Garden and other ornamental features, as always on a grand scale.  I find it difficult to reconcile the value to the community of the structures created against the cost to the society of the time. We saw recently in Painswich that many factory owners had vastly opulent lifestyles while many of their workers lived in poverty. Perhaps, today, we see a flatter level so that the degree of opulence is lessened along with the level of poverty. Morally more acceptable  but maybe culturally of lesser value to future generations. I think I prefer today’s balance.

But back to Blenheim, after the Secret Garden, Ro is running low on energy  because she is still unwell. However  she wants to see the formal garden which fortunately is accessed by a little train which we passed near the entrance. A ten minute wait, a five minute trip and we are at the garden. There is a museum of old farm implements, some children’s play equipment and a maze.

The maze is of centuries old yew trees. We enter and can hear others some distance away pacing along the quite wide tracks. The track to a raised lookout is quite straightforward. However, Ro is running low on energy and recalls a sign suggesting one allow ½ hour to complete the maze. We bail out, retracing our steps and return to the little train which we probably would have missed had we persevered.

Alighting the train, it is a five minute walk back to the van and a refreshing cup of coffee.

As we are due in Orpington tomorrow, 4 hours away, we want to make a good start in case the traffic tomorrow closer to London is a diabolical as we have been lead to believe it is.

We want to skirt the Greater London Area so head toward NewForest which we have been told is worth a visit anyway. Despite having selected Avoid Motorways, we drive most of the way on motorways but the traffic is tolerable and the lane hopping required for passing is not too arduous.

Arriving at our chosen campsite, we search the named area. It is called the Deer Hunter and despite finding an Inn of that name, there is no campsite. The manager of the Inn sees our plight and informs us that the campsite closed as it had no license. There is nothing close we are told so we look for our usual wild camp.

Just up the road is a forest track which will do us. As Ro is still feeling quite nauseous, I walk back to the Deer Hunter for a pint of Guinness and  fish and chips. There is a large group there and the barman having got me my pint says they cannot serve me until 9. Great! But a quick word with the New Zealand manager and I have my dinner.

I have a quiet comfortable night but unfortunately Ro’s night is otherwise. We need to get her to a doctor. At least here she can communicate her condition in English.

Wednesday 26th June 2013 Newforest, England

Leaving early, we expect to be in Orpington quite early. Before 9am, Thomas tells us.

But as we have not renewed our Live Service,  Thomas  does not know we are in for a long traffic jam. It takes one hour to clear and we arrive at the parking place where we will meet Janice and Allan at 10 am rather than 9. As we have not had breakfast, the hour until we meet them is spent doing that.

We are tidied and ready when they arrive. The site of the jazz festival is only 5 minutes away but down the usual narrow road. Allan warns me of a blind corner where some drivers come around on 2 wheels, but as he is in front, we are secure.

Within half an hour we are sited and ready to set up. However Ro is still feeling unwell so she returns with Allan and Janice while I set up. They will return at 5pm as we have very kindly been invited for dinner and to spend the night at their home. In Ro’s current state that is an absolute blessing.

 The intention is for her to visit a doctor during the afternoon but when they return for me, that has not happened as Ro had hoped the changed conditions would fix hers.

Instead we will launch into British Health tomorrow before the festival starts at 7.30pm.

The evening is spent very pleasantly in their home and we turn in about 11pm.

Thursday 27th June 2013 Sidcup, England

Ro has had another uncomfortable night. We go to the local hospital’s Urgent Care centre and unexpectedly are able to access their system without cost. The wait is, as with our experience of hospitals in Australia, significant. By midday we have seen a very competent doctor who says the symptoms fit many conditions and he wants blood tests. But that requires a visit to another hospital where we wait a similar period. Eventually, although there is no obvious cause, more serious causes are eliminated and she is prescribed some acid reducing medication, some anti nausea tablets and some Gaviscon, an over the counter  stomach lining medication. It is the last which removes the symptoms and within a few hours, she is nearly back to normal.

So it is that by 7.30 we are ready to enjoy the jazz festival.

There is a marquee where the musicians set up and a beer tent supplying 20 or so different brews from local microbreweries as the festival is both a jazz and beer festival.

The first night features younger musicians. The first group we don’t enjoy much but the second and particularly the third are wonderful. Although the weather is not very warm, the marquee is  although the seats are less than comfortable after a time.

We stay until the end, about 11.30pm then turn in.

Friday 28th June 2013 Orpington, England

We had intended to see Chartwell House, the family home of Winston Churchill, but it is raining and it looks to stay that way.

Janice suggests a stately home instead which is National Trust and indoors so we will visit that and Chartwell on another day. The home we visit is Knole which is 30 minutes away.  

Along the way we stop to sort out a SIM issue in connecting to the internet. While Allan and I visit the telephone shop, Ro and Janice go shopping. The 15 minutes we wait for the SIM issue to be corrected sees Janice loaded with shoes and a hand bag. A bit rough! I get my SIM issue fixed free and Allan’s credit card gets thrashed! Pardon the apparent chauvinism, but I am a tart for a one liner. (or is tart P in C also.)

As it is lunch time, we visit a pub which is very nice. Pubs in England are suffering since the smoking ban came in and those who do not close are moving up market, so dining facilities are improving. After a delicious meal we continue to Knole.

The home is grand but somewhat dingy. It is in quite original condition in some areas bit in others there has been extensive water damage which is slowly being repaired. We look through, perhaps, 10 rooms, one of which is particularly grand. It is called the King’s room and was a feature in many stately homes. The room was decorated lavishly on the off chance that the king would visit even though that likelihood was close to zero. It was as much a status symbol as a practicality.

There is also an ancient deer herd introduced by Henry 8^th for hunting. We see many animals grazing calmly, the threat of being dinner having disappeared many years ago.

We are back at the festival by 7.30 for the next three acts. The acts vary in quality and appeal, mostly a subjective decision as the level is very high.

Again we stay to the end and are in bed a bit after midnight after showers.

Saturday 29th June 2013 Orpington, England

After a lazy start, we swim in the perfect temperature pool and generally relax until 2.15pm when there is what is termed an Umbrella Parade. Lead by Harry Strutters Jive and Swing band, a procession of painted people and umbrellas follows a serpentine path around the campsite in the form of a  Trad Jazz march.

The rest of the afternoon is spent outside the marquee on the grass in what passes for sunshine. The sides of the marquee have been removed for the afternoon so we relax on our banana lounges which are marginally more comfortable than the chairs inside.

The bands are again of high quality but not always to our taste. One such group consists of a lead tenor saxophonist who could be Count Dracula, a drummer who by his expression is as pained by his playing as we are and some other musicians, loosely so called in our opinion. Their playing is frenetic and seemingly independent of one another. We think they should have been billed “Count Dracula and his Zombies featuring Saxophony Cacophany “. But they weren’t.

Fortunately acts not to our liking are few. We are enjoying the festival immensely and hope to fit it into next year’s travels.

However, our fortune in enjoying the festival is countered by Allan’s misfortune. Last night he had commented about the pesky mole mounds around their camp site. But it is the mole hill he does not see which is his undoing. Under the ground sheet is a tunnel of sufficient depth for him to badly twist his ankle. It turns out that the ligament has partially torn, a nasty injury which will require him to be immobilised for some days.   Our plans had been to see London with Janice and Allan as guides and to see the famous Mousetrap on Monday night. Perhaps appropriate to observe the best laid plans of mice and men…………..

While Allan keeps weight of his foot, we listen to more jazz in the marquee.

We are in bed again by midnight looking forward to tomorrow’s offerings.

Sunday 30th June 2013 Orpington, England

A beautiful day dawns promising a day of sunshine. After breakfast and a swim we read and relax until midday when we are promised a piano feast.

Allan and Janice have another engagement today which does not require much moving about, so as they head off to that, we get to the marquee on time so as not to miss the pianist.

The artist is Keith Nichols and he is a vastly accomplished jazz pianist and very entertaining. We are enthralled with jazz from the 1920s, some played  at blinding speed. All the artists we have watched love jazz and Keith is no exception. After an encore, I call out a request for his favourite piece from any genre. His answer is that all he has been playing fits exactly that category.

Another band starts a bit later. Their jazz is less structured  and includes so much embellishment on the base melody as to render it unrecognisable. Not our cup of tea really.

Returning to the van via the beautifully warm swimming pool,  we go for a  walk around the surrounding forest before joining Julie and Kevin, some other friends of Allan and Janice, for dinner.

The people we have met as organisers or visitors are helpful, friendly and fun to be with. It has been a memorable weekend.

After dinner we listen to the final group, a pianist, a bass guitarist and a clarinettist/saxophonist/singer. They are a fitting end for the festival. Highly competent in each area, they have a wonderful rapport with one another and the audience. It is with a degree of sadness we listen to the dying notes of their final piece. The compare thanks all and specifically those who have organised the event. It has run for the last 6 years and will continue next year. I think it may be the  cornerstone around which we plan our itinerary.

So we retire for our last night here. Allan and Janice have very kindly offered to have us stay with them for a few days as we tour London. We can leave the van at the camp site to avoid parking problems.

Monday 1st July 2013 Orpington, England

The wind is a bit cool but the sun is shining. We have the morning to pack up and have time for a swim before doing so.

Allan and Janice had not returned last night contrary to their intentions. Their day had been interrupted by hospital visits to check that there were no broken bones. This has altered our plans a little in that we will drive the 5 miles to their home in Sidcup.

By lunch time we are ready to leave so after a  quick bite of lunch  we are away.

In discussions we think with a bit of toing and froing, the van should fit in their front yard with room to spare for their cars, which is great as parking otherwise will be  a bit of a pain.  Fortunately we do fit.

We are supposed to be going to Agatha Christie’s long running play “Mousetrap” tonight, tickets to which we had purchased some months ago.  We have purchased four tickets but Allan’s plight has upset that as the doctors yesterday very strongly advised against much movement for the next few days.

Janice has found a friend who will utilize the extra ticket . We leave at 5.30pm to catch the train from Sidcup to Charring Cross. It is a trip we will repeat over the next few days.

After a half hour trip we climb out and exit the station opposite Trafalgar Square. A ten minute walk and we reach  St Martin’s where Mousetrap has been staged continuously for 60 years. This performance is number 25,255. Our tickets need to be picked up from the box office then we have 45 minutes to have something to eat.

A small pub nearby has pea and ham soup  which can be supplied quickly so we opt for that. The pub is called The Two Brewers and typically early 20^th century or a bit older. It would be nice to savour the atmosphere but the play starts soon so we cannot linger.

Our seats are right in the front of the dress circle and provide a great view except for the brass handrail against the balcony wall. I am a bit too tall so spend the performance peering above or below the rail to view the stage.

The story is a typical Agatha Christie murder mystery set in the 1950s or thereabouts. It takes place in one room which looks quite authentic as one might expect after 60 years of productions. The characters provide good entertainment and, to their credit, keep the performance fresh. Of course, they have not done 25000 performances. Perhaps only 1000 so they should be fresh.

There is an intermission where we have a drink in the tiny bar then the performance continues to the unexpected end. As we applauded the actors, one asks the audience not to give away the ending to potentially future patrons. We had not known the ending so it must have been a reasonably well kept secret  over the 60 years.

Arriving back at Sidcup, we walk for another 12 or so minutes back to Allan and Janice’s home and enjoy our most comfortable night  in weeks in a normal bed.

Tuesday 2nd July 2013 Sidcup, England

 Today we will explore London ourselves. We intend getting a hop on hop off bus for two days to explore London then relying on the tube Thursday and Friday.

Walking to the station  about 10 minutes away we purchase two Offpeak Travel Cards for 17 GBP. This allows us to use rail, tube and buses from 9.30 am until 4am the next day. For some strange reason, that ticket is slightly cheaper than the Offpeak Return ticket we purchased last night despite covering more transport forms. Despite that, transport seems quite expensive here; certainly compared with cost of the Metro  in Paris.

Just outside Charing Cross we see the HOHO us we have been advised to use. For 72 GBP we purchase two two day passes. These include a boat trip on the Thames and three walking tours.

The bus stop is a few hundred metres away and we have a little difficulty in locating it. When we do, the bus is just about to leave. The upper deck is open and the sky, though overcast, looks like it will not drop rain on us. It is coolish but the upper deck provides a far better view.

There are three routes we can take. The red route takes up from Trafalgar square , across London Bridge, back across Tower Bridge  then along to the houses of parliament and Big Ben. Here we alight with the intention of going by river to Greenwich. 

The trip on the river takes one hour. We travel past the London Eye and the recreated Globe theatre and under Tower Bridge, beyond which converted warehouses  and more recent blocks of apartments  are densely set on both banks. The colours are beigy and in our opinion could do with some colour highlights.  The slightly dull effect is exacerbated by the dull skies and the low water which exposes mud on both banks. The Thames is tidal here and varies by 6 metre.

At Greenwich we walk up to the time ball. It is a steep walk to the group of buildings which sit high on a hill to allow visibility for ships which coordinated their chronometers at midday in the early 1800s.

Lunch consisted of a traditional pie, mash and peas in a refurbished pie shop. A choice of gravy or liquor was available. Ro tried the liquor. It was like a parsley and pea soup which was liberally poured over the meal. A little like an up side down South Australian Pie Floater.

Returning on the boat, we get off at the Tower of London and get on the HOHO bus again. Being a tourist is quite tiring so it is a good way to relax while still seeing the sights. We stay on the bus for a circuit then get off at Saint Paul’s Cathedral, although we expect  that it is probably too late to visit tonight. We walk around the base then down to the Millennium foot Bridge which is an interesting suspension bridge, the opening of which was marred by excessive movement when throngs of people first crossed it. It was closed the afternoon it opened and was subsequently modified to prevent the oscillations. The name it earned of the Widbly Wobbly bridge remains today.

The recreated Globe theatre is close and we and have a pint of Guinness before walking back to Charing Cross, viewing Tower Bridge in the twilight.

We are back to Sidcup by 10pm where we talk with Allan and Janice until midnight then go to bed.

Wednesday 3rd July 2013 Sidcup, England

We are back on the train by 9.31am, the first off peak service available.

First we want to do the guided walk to see the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. The group is large and the tour guide, who is a Michael Palin lookalike, strides out with a Kate and William flag held high above his head. We are told that this is a special time because for three weeks,  the Grenadier Guards replace the Coldstream Guards. Or some such. I suspect that every group would be told they are  lucky for some reason.

The guards used to be made up only of males taller than 5’ 10” but today all comers are allowed. There are three women in this guard and at least one looks quite short on her horse. However their turnout is spectacular. The British know how to do pomp and ceremony.

Our walk finishes at the palace.  What to do now?  Harrods is on our must see list. Perhaps a London Taxi ride there. A family has  just left a taxi so we hail that. “Where to, gov” says the driver (or maybe I have watched too many British productions) and we are off to Harrods. The tight turning circle is utilized as the taxi does a U turn. Our ride is mostly sitting in the traffic and the driver apologises and says we should be there in 10 minutes. He manoeuvers the cab around back streets, chatting amicably after I initiate a conversation. 10 GBP lighter, we exit the cab and enter the iconic Harrods.

The escalator silently transports us to the first floor. Casually glancing at the price tag of 1400 GBP for a set of sheets, we consider the bedding in our van is adequate and instead move on to the food hall.  Perhaps we will decide that the cheese in the fridge is adequate, too. Entering the food hall is like stepping back to the 19^th century. The halls are tiled in pastel yellow tiles with pastel patterns, stained glass illuminated ceilings and ornate wrought iron arches. There is a huge range of food in multiple halls and the attendants are all dressed in period costume. It is unlike anything else we have seen.

A cup of coffee would be nice. So how to find somewhere to have some? Asking attendants, we are directed to various areas and finally settle on The Tea Room where we order coffee and cake from a waiter in also period costume. It is beautifully presented and an enjoyable experience. After coffee, we go further up the store, looking at the sports floor and then the toy department, the latter of which is quite spectacular. In addition to the usual range of toys there are soft toy giraffes, rhinoceros and lions  all very large, both physically and fiscally. Returning to street level, we take the Egyptian elevator which has Egyptian columns, sphinx , hieroglyphics and other such common or garden department store adornments.  

Now we walk to the HOHO green route which takes us around St Pancras station and the hotel which has recently been returned from the brink. It was a wonder in its day but having been built without the emerging fashionable en suites, was doomed before its time. It has now been returned to its former glory but  incorporating the now indispensable  en suites for each room.

Returning to the City of London, we board a bus on the blue route and travel around Hyde Park and environs. We are beginning to get a feel for the relative location of the many icons whose names and facades we have known so well all our lives.

We get off the bus at Piccadilly Circus and look at the massive electronic bill boards before looking in the souvenir shop Cool Britannia where everything typically British can be bought with a Made in China sticker. I guess the place of manufacture does not prevent it being typically British.

Pub meals have become quite a favourite with us, especially the old ones which ooze character. Down a small street we find one at which we have our dinner, mine washed down with the now usual pint of Guinness.

After dinner, we walk to the  nearby  Piccadilly tube station and  take the underground to Charing Cross then the usual rail trip back to Sidcup.

Thursday 4th July 2013 Sidcup, England

We take the 9.31 to London intending to visit  St Paul’s first. As our two day pass is valid for  48 hours we can take the HOHO bus to St Paul’s before it runs out.

The days are getting warmer  so the outside is more popular. We are lucky to get some seats when some rather large Americans alight. They have taken their time descending the narrow staircase, perhaps because one or more got stuck, so now people are streaming on board while the Americans are exiting. One calls out  loudly “Stand back ma’am” and they leave allowing the bus suspension to return to its normal position.  Although the route is now familiar,  something new is revealed each trip.

Alighting at the St Paul’s stop we join a queue to pay our 30 GBP for entry. This covers the cathedral, the crypt and climbing the 528 steps to the internal Whispering Gallery and external  Stone Gallery and Golden Gallery viewing platforms.

An audio guide is provided and, under its guidance, we  spend all morning looking through the cathedral. The wow factor is substantial. The architecture is awe inspiring and the mosaic on the ceilings  are spectacular. Despite seeing many cathedrals over our travels, we are still impressed by all we see. Mind you, we are unlikely to see better than St Paul’s .

We descend to the crypt which is the biggest in Europe, covering the same area as the  cathedral floor. It has tombs of Nelson, Wellington, Christopher Wren and numerous others together with more recent memorials to military persons who died in the various conflicts. It is easy to spend an hour combing the area.

After a late morning tea of coffee and cake in the crypt, we  return to the floor and start our 550 step ascent. First stop is the Whispering Gallery, a mere 257 steps above us. We have already gazed at the dome from the cathedral floor as it towered above us, fulfilling its task of belittlement in the presence of God.  The climb is good aerobic exercise. Initially the Whispering Gallery is more a puffing gallery but as our respiration returns to normal, we can enjoy the space. If one speaks quietly somewhat obliquely into the wall, those on the other side of the 34 metre gallery can hear what is spoken. On this occasion, there is a choir practising on the cathedral floor so we hear their singing instead. Probably a fair swap.

The Stone Gallery is a further 120 steps up mainly iron spiral stairs through the cavity between the domes. The inner dome is much flatter than the external dome, built that way to provide appropriate visual impact both inside and outside the cathedral. The 360 degree view is a wonderful way to see London, surpassed in this building only by the view from the Golden Gallery, another 150 steps higher. We climb more spiral steps and walk through narrow stone stairways to reach the goal. Unfortunately the number of people wanting the experience means there is little time to savour the view.

Although it is now 4pm, we have not had lunch. We want to visit the British Museum but we are running out of time. Walking to the museum we see a small pub and think we have time for a quick drink and meal before a brief visit.  By the time we have finished, we only have 45 minutes before closing. This is enough to get a quick appreciation of the building without much appreciation of the contents. Perhaps this will be for our next London visit.

A tube back to Charing Cross and we return to Sidcup to join Allan and Janice for dinner. It is now we realize  lunch at 4 pm was not such a good idea.

Friday 5th July 2013 Sidcup, England

The day looks too good for walking around London. Perhaps today is the day for Charwell as that will involve a lot of time in the garden.

It is about half an hour away and we arrive about 11.00. Our National Trust membership provides free entry to both the house and the extensive gardens. To avoid too many people in the house at one time., all visitors are given a ticket with a 15 minute window for entry. Ours is for 1.15pm so we have time to  explore the gardens and studio.

Winston Churchill started painting at the age of 41 following a severe bout of depression. Over the remainder of his life he painted over 500 paintings at quite a masterful level. One painting sold recently for 1 million GBP but it is difficult to remove the contribution his fame made to the value. His paintings do have significant intrinsic artistic merit, though. When a friend encouraged him to enter a painting in a contest he was reluctant as his fame might secure a good result rather that the painting’s merit. His friend suggested entering under a pseudonym and entry by another person. The painting won First Prize. We gained the impression that, although Churchill was described as arrogant, he was quite a modest man. When he received the Nobel Prize, he commented that he thought they were making a mistake but that if they had no reservations, he would have none also.

The house is delightful. Whereas palaces feel artificial and not at all homely, Chartwell embodies warmth and homeliness. The layout and décor helps. One of Churchill’s cigars is lying unlit in an ashtray next to is chair. In the studio, his painter’s smock was draped over his chair, there to use on  his return.

The house has three levels all left, at the request of his daughters, as they were when he lived there. None is grandiose but all reflect his interests.  Some of the gifts from heads of state fit into the grandiose category but they are displayed in a museum room which was Churchill’s idea as he considered the gifts as the nation’s gifts, not his.

After coffee and cake in the restaurant we continue around the gardens where we see two walled gardens, one of which is a kitchen garden, the substantial brick wall of which was built mostly by Churchill after his purchase of Chartwell around 1920. He also built a brick child’s play house about 3 metre square with a tiled roof. He was indeed a multi talented individual.

Leaving Chartwell about 5.30pm we drive to Orpington where we will stay the night at the jazz campsite. There is an ‘Open Mike’ evening where people showcase their talents or otherwise. There is more than a little which can be described as otherwise.

Saturday 6th July 2013 Orpington, England

Today we leave Orpington to visit Mavis and Terry in Essex. After a leisurely morning which includes a swim and a forest walk, we drive for a bit over an hour to Hadleigh in Essex arriving about 2pm.

Finding Mavis and Terry’s house is straightforward and we spend a relaxing afternoon chatting before having a lovely chicken dinner.

We have an early night in a comfortable bed. Tomorrow we are going to a car boot sale  at 5.30am, so the early night is appreciated.

Sunday 7th July 2013 Hadleigh, England

Not only does it get dark very late, it gets light very early. In our van, we close curtains and un screens so it remains dark even when the sun is shining outside. Not so in our bedroom. Despite curtains, it is broad daylight by 4.30am. Getting up at 5.30 seems perfectly normal.

The reason we are getting up so early is that Mavis deals a little in bric a brac. An early start is necessary as all the good buys go early.

We arrive by 6 and the market is in full swing. There are hundreds of vendors selling all kinds of wares which range from unmitigated old junk to new items, many items of which are also junk. To make money from dealing, one needs a keen eye and a good knowledge of the worth of items. We don’t have that but we do have a list of things we need in the van.

A replacement mug is needed and not surprisingly there is china available on 50% of stalls. The vendor wants 20p. The question is: should we haggle. This is half the fun we are told but the vendor has made a mistake in not asking 10 pounds to start with. If we say we won’t pay a penny more than 18p, we get stuck with 2p of coppers. We recklessly hand over 20p without a murmur and the deal is struck. Further along I see a carbon monoxide detector and ask the price. 2pounds. We have occasionally felt a bit sleepy in the van when driving and wonder if carbon monoxide could be a cause. The monitor would eliminate or confirm that as a cause. I can do better than that I am sure. The site must be teeming with vendors  selling carbon monoxide monitors. Alas, it proves not to be the case. I will have to haggle. Forty five minutes later, my mouth dry, I ask the vendor the price, hoping he will not remember me. Given that I am wearing an Australian hat complete with Boxing Kangaroos, dangling corks, “Give us a beer ya mug” slogan and have an Australian accent amongst a sea of limey voices, that surely is unlikely. The price it seems is still 2 pounds. I scrutinize the pack showing that I am a canny purchaser. “When were they made?” I ask. He shrugs. However when I point out a little label saying “Replace by November 2011”  he comments the manufacture date is 5 years before that.  “1 pound” says I, confident I am on a winner. “The price is 2 ………. Ah what the hell, OK 1 pound.”, he says.  “Yes!”  I say silently to myself, punching the air. That, dear friends, is how it is done.  Saving ourselves from carbon monoxide poisoning is arguably worth 1 pound. Assuming it works. 

By  9.30 Mavis has combed the stalls and bought a few bits and pieces, but nothing very valuable. Thems the breaks. We have breakfast then go out for a drive.

The day is very warm so the beach is an obvious destination…….. for everyone. The roads are packed so we go elsewhere. There is a pub called The Plough and Sail which has ceiling beams just at or below head height. It has a nice garden where we have a drink then lunch. Within walking distance is a boat harbour  which has its share of derelict vessels, both in the yard and in the water, which is absent as it is low tide.

The afternoon is spent relaxing before a light salad dinner in Mavis and Terry’s sizable garden.

As Mavis and Terry have commitments tomorrow, we will get a good sleep then head off toward Cambridge.

Monday 8th July 2013 Hadleigh, England

We are on the road by 10.30.  First a bit of shopping to replenish our rather empty cupboards. Our usual local Lidl serves that purpose. We also visit a bank to transfer some money  to Mavis and Terry to cover the van’s insurance.

Now to Cambridge. We have selected a campsite near Cambridge which we will use as a base. By the time we arrive there about 2.30, it is quite hot and we have a swim in the unheated but warm pool.  Maybe we will veg out here and continue our tourist pursuits tomorrow.

That decided we enjoy the warmth of the uncharacteristically warm day and plan our day tomorrow.

The CO monitor I bought works but did not alarm when we were driving, meaning the slight diesel odour is not causing our slow demise. Notwithstanding, a dirty windscreen convinces us there is some fume ingress somewhere so application  of sealant would be worthwhile. The afternoon provides an opportunity to apply that.

Tuesday 9th July 2013 Cambridge, England

We don’t get going as early as we would like partially because the weather is still lovely and we are somewhat seduced by it. But also because I wash the van and bicycles.

Finally we are on the road with the intention of using the Park n’ Ride service. However when we find the Park, its access gate is height limited and we can’t fit.

Continuing on to Cambridge, we drive to the colleges and end up a street where further progress is blocked by bollards. Retracing our path we find a street side park which is not full, presumably because we are not ’in term’. We can park for 50p per half hour.

First some lunch in the van before mounting our trusty freshly washed bicycles. The bikes are a great way to see the area, especially as it is so flat.

First stop is the Fitzwilliam Museum. This building is remarkably ornate and it has been said that it seems to compete with its contents. That is not an easy competition as the contents are made up of the most incredible treasures from all over the world.  With limited time, we look at Greek ancient Greek and Egyptian treasures, including mummies and sarcophaguses,  then spend some time looking at  19^th and 20^th century paintings. The entrance to the building, from which we exit, is reminiscent of the Paris Opera House. One could spend days here. Unfortunately time constrains us and we must be content with getting a feel for the  museum and the area in general. Maybe we can come by here on another trip.

The camera tells us the memory is full so a quick trip back to the van provides us with the opportunity for afternoon tea as we get another memory card. It transpires that this is also full but we don’t want to dump to disc as yet so we will delete unwanted shots and cope until we can dump.

Now back to the colleges. We want to see the punts on the river so ride through small laneways to a bridge over the River Cam. It is quite narrow here but punts glide effortlessly or otherwise along the waterway. There is a punt hire just near the bridge giving us the opportunity to try it ourselves. For 14 pounds we can punt for 1 hour. It is 5pm and we can just get one hour before they close at 6.

We are given a few pointers by a scrawny Scotsman with long white hair and a white flowing beard. Probably Methusala’s brother.   Standing on the stern of the long, narrow punt, I push the punting pole to the bottom, some 2 metres down. The punt glides forward…. toward the bank. I have been told the technique is to put the pole just in front of my leg on the right side and allow it to rub along the gunwale then continue pushing, hand over hand, before allowing the wooden pole to float to the surface. Then use the pole as a rudder to adjust the direction of the punt before repeating. Sounds fine in theory but the adjustment generally brings to punt almost to a stop.

Using a technique somewhere between Peter Garret’s Midnight Oils dancing moves and Marcel Marceau  on ice, we make it upstream to the Mathematical Bridge where we turn and go downstream to the Bridge of Sighs, looking at all the well known colleges on the way. As I am concentrating on not falling in more than the passing scenery, I will look at Ro’s photos later to see what the place looks like.

Toward the end of our hour, I am able to provide the usual comic routine to onlookers when the pole sticks in the mud. At least I have the presence of mind not to hold on and we glide poleless some meters along the river. We have been provided a paddle for this very eventuality, it having been explained as necessary for retrieving pole operators who fall in. At least I can use the paddle rather than having to swim back to the punt.

Our punting complete, we ride further along the river and around the colleges. As it is late, the colleges are closed to visitors  but we can see the courtyards and buildings from the paths we ride.

We had hoped to go to an evensong but are informed that these occur during term on the advertised days but at different times out of term. Looks like we miss out.

As it is getting late we look for a pub for dinner. There is one which does not look too touristy and order dinner while having a pint. The chef left today so there is a 40 minute wait but we are happy to enjoy the atmosphere.

By 9 we are back at the van. We will return to last night’s campsite and head for Norwich tomorrow.

Wednesday 10th July 2013 Cambridge, England

Today we head for the Norfolk Broads and Norwich. Setting Thomas for Reedham which we understand is in the Broads, we arrive about 1pm. The village is typical with meandering streets, some thatched cottages and a river with a number of different crafts bobbing by the bank.

When we were with Terry and Mavis, one of our tasks had been to organise an oil change for the van. That had not happened at least partly because it was the weekend. On Monday on our way to Cambridge we had purchased a filter and 6 litre of oil so all we now need is someone with facilities to drain the old oil. There is a marine repair shop by the river so I ask whether he knows somewhere that could do the change. He suggests a town,  Acle, nearby. I have been talking to Ro in what I perceive to be various English accents. The accent of the man is much the same as I have just been using. Ro dares me to speak to him that way but I pike. What I think sounds like their accent probably doesn’t at all.

We are directed to “Droive to Acle and just as we enr we will see a koind of roundaboot. Then, before you can gather your senses, turn roit at  next road”. There is an industrial estate there which has some mechanics shops.

Following instructions to the letter, we turn right before gathering our senses and find the industrial estate. One place cannot do it as we cannot get into the building. But there is a motorhome service place at the end and we enquire there. The place is a junk heap with mess everywhere and bits of vehicles scattered about. He could not do it today. I ask whether we could use his facilities and he agrees. All we need is a drain tank and a bit of space and he has both. Driving up onto our levelling ramps, there is easy access to the sump and filter. The engine is quite hot so we let it cool for half an hour as we have lunch. After lunch, after 15 minutes I have replaced the oil and filter and we are ready to go. Giving the mechanic a koala and  ten pounds for his trouble we are on our way.

As we drive out, we see the showroom opposite the estate. It is rather more tidy. There is a motorhome advertised for 27,000 pounds  which has very low miles. We  look through it as we may consider trading ours in on one we can import into Australia. It is well laid out and would suit us however has no air conditioning, a must for home use. Still it is a starting point.  

Near the coast is a National Trust pumping windmill called Horsey Pump near the village of Horsey. Who could resist going to anywhere called Horsey Pump? Not us. It is well within the Norfolk Broads and is 20 minutes away. Arriving about 4.45 we hope it will be open. It is and we climb the 50 foot high windmill. It was built in 1910 to pump out seawater from the surrounding low lands which periodically flood and would do so regularly without it. Today an electric pump fulfils the role. Although the windmill is not working, we can clearly see the  size of the sails and mechanics of operation, including the fantail which keeps the sail into the wind as it shifts in direction.  This innovation is a small wind driven rotor at right angles to the main sail and sitting behind the rotating head. If the wind is more than 10 degrees away from dead ahead, the fan rotor moves. It is coupled to a drive on the head which  moves it back to within 10 degrees of dead ahead.

We walk out to a point with a view across  the small lake, alle3d Horsey Meer,  into which some canals feed. There is abundant wildlife here but we do not spy any.

Our chosen campsite is 10 miles the other side of Norwich. Thomas plots a route below  Norwich but we request an alternate route which takes us above Norwich through very picturesque villages and laneways.

We arrive at our campsite at 7 and  are able to get a site for the night after some discussions on a scratchy mobile line. The site is well developed and the showers are untimed and hot, which has become our measure for all campsites.

Thursday 11th July 2013 Norwich, England

The weather is again pleasant and we drive into Norwich with the idea of parking and either walking or riding to the sights we want to see.

There is a car park close to the church and museum we want to see. We walk rather than ride as we see more walking perhaps at the expense of covering less distance.

Our walk takes us by the river past a naval boat used as a headquarters for naval cadets, over the river and up to  Norwich Castle which is now a museum. Having limited time and knowing how museums are black holes for time, rather than entering the museum, we walk into the old section. This area consists of the usual narrow laneways and includes a wonderful arcade which seems to specialize in toy shops. The floors are mosaic with brass inlay and look like they were laid yesterday.

Walking further through a market we come across more laneways, one of which has a small shop called “Miss Biddy’s Tea Rooms” It is decorated in 1930s style with china and furniture packed into every corner and available for sale and 1920s music playing. The wall paper is typical of the time. There is an upstairs eating area, a downstairs tea room  and a take away area which does not detract from the period charm. The attendants are in period dress.

We enquire upstairs about vacancies but the place is full and fully booked. However a table will become free in about half an hour if we wait. The tea room is so wonderfully evocative of the period that we are prepared to wait. We had just previously visited a shop which we left as there was nothing which took our fancy. This place by contrast could have served stale sandwiches and would still have been worth waiting for.

Within half an hour we are shown to our table, a folded up treadle sewing machine.  Fortunately we order dishes which don’t take much room as the available room is severely limited. But drinking soup through a straw with my knees in my armpits has its own special charm and we enjoy every minute.

Leaving the tea rooms, we walk to the cathedral which is listed as a must see. When we see it, we agree. Although one would think by now we had been wowed out, we discover we have not been. It is gargantuan. There is an entrance through a medieval gate, little of which remains standing but behind which a visitor centre has very sympathetically been incorporated. From there we enter the cathedral. Entry is free via a cash register where it is suggested we donate 5 pounds each. There is no compulsion to donate, merely the embarrassment of walking past the till when everyone else donates. There doesn’t even seem to be a Seniors Donation.

The donation is well worth it. The cathedral, built over 900 years ago, has fanned vaulting over its ceiling and is said to be the best example of it worldwide. Here where the ribs of the vaults cross at the apex of the ceiling are decorative  round shapes called bosses, 1200 in all. Our camera comes in handy to zoom in on detail 150 feet up  which otherwise we would not see.  It is undoubtedly spectacular.  The overall condition is very good and we spend an hour looking through the various areas.

Walking back to the van through winding streets we head for our campsite which is 2 ½ hours away. When we arrive we find the campsite in disarray as it is being rebuilt as a resort. We end up staying in a meadow with a few caravans but no other occupants. The facilities leave something to be desired but it is only for one night. The option is to wild camp but this year ‘s experience of being bailed up by farmers and property owners has made us more wary. Also, there seems to be less opportunity in UK presumably due to the higher population density.

Friday 12th July 2013 Ratby, England

We are away by 9.30 intending to reach Whitby, some 3 hours away. However we are seduced by a stately home, Hardwick Hall, about one hour away.

The National Trust entry has a note not to use Satnav but I pay insufficient attention. What could a satnav do wrong? It has the place listed so it must know where it is.

Of course it knows where the attraction is. Unfortunately it knows about the back entrance which is locked. Once the car using Satnav in front of us has departed, we can do a 25 point turn and find the front entrance. This is up laneways where both mirrors brush hedges  but fortunately Satnavs taking people to the wrong entrance know not to use these laneways so we encounter no cars travelling toward us.

The long road to the hall has numerous cattlegrids as it is a working farm. One has no fence either side so presumably relies on cattle being prostrate with laughter to contain the herds. We had read that there is space for 600 cars and we now see why.  There must be 300 or 400 today; not even a weekend.

We hear a talk about how Bess Hardwick  rose from an impoverished girl of 16 to being the most powerful woman in England behind the queen. The hall is very symmetrical with large amounts of glass, then a huge extravagance. The hall was filled with light but today is quite dark due to the need to minimize sunlight for reasons of conservation.

We move through the various grand rooms of the mansion then down to the smaller but still opulent living quarters. However our meanderings are cut short by a fire alarm. We are all ushered quickly but calmly to the exit and it is then that we get an appreciation of how many people were in the building when it seemed sparsely populated as we moved through. It gets about 100,000 visitors a year.

Next to the hall is the old hall which is just a shell of about 4 storeys. We can climb to the top up an existing stairway and we get a wonderful view from the top although the day is somewhat hazy.

Next is a visit to the restaurant where we each order a salad, the order for which gets mislaid. After half an hour and some enquiries by us, they arrive. To offset the slow service,  we seem to have been  given double onion. This is unfortunate as our order requested no onion. I point this out and we are offered free drinks which we later accept in the form of two coffees.

By now it is past closing time but we still have the walled garden to see. This is not locked and there are some stragglers so we have 15 minutes or so before we leave.

As it is 6pm we don’t have time to reach our chosen campsite so instead settle for one 10 miles away, unfortunately in the opposite direction to where we want to travel. But it is only a half hour away so we will stop there.

When we arrive at the place Thomas has guided us to, there is no sign of the campsite. We have a map which gives us some more clues and eventually we find it. There is one more obstacle. A locked gate. As the campsite is in a residential  area  , there are control gates at strategic positions  Two cars exit and we ask the first about the campsite. It is there but we need a a code to get in. It is usual to make a booking and we have not. We walk through a pedestrian gate and toward where we think the campsite will be. However before we make much progress, the first car we saw has returned to lead us to the campsite. 

It is beautifully lush with lots of grass, a pool, a sauna, a hot tub and friendly people. As tomorrow is predicted to be 30 degrees, we may stay here for a day or so for some R&R from tourist pursuits.

Saturday 13th July 2013 Nottingham, England

We will stay the day here. It is already pleasantly warm and the quiet, green surrounds and pool are all very seductive.

Our good samaritan  of last night visits us and brings some milk, thinking we may be low. Between now and when we leave, we will have quite a lot of interaction with him. He is 87 and in his heyday he and his wife made up an  acrobatic dancing team. He was a body builder and a local bobby and  also played and still plays  the organ. Quite a character and one with whom we share a lot of common thoughts. 

Our day is spent reading, writing relaxing and a little van maintenance, albeit cosmetic maintenance. There are some transfers on the front and back which we would like to remove. A ladder is available nearby and in not much time the transfers are removed. Another quick wash and the van is looking very presentable.

The people here are very friendly and many come to speak with us having heard on the grapevine we are visitors from far flung Australia. About 5.30pm  it is suggested we should take our bikes and ride to The Abbey a short distance away. It should be open late in summer.

Out the gate, turn left at the bottom of the hill, ride up a gentle slope, turn left and follow the road. Many years ago when their children were younger they used to walk to the Abbey on a Sunday afternoon. Sounds great and not too arduous as the day is still quite warm.

Within 15 minutes we are on our way. Coast down the hill and turn left. Up the gentle slope, puffing like steamtrains by the top, left on the road and coast down the not so gentle slope along a bitumen road ,which seems medieval in its state of repair, and within 3 km we are at the Abbey. The children were probably of Sherpa descent.

The Abbey is closed. The cathedral façade is standing but the cathedral behind is merely a grassy paddock. The outside of the Abbey is in fair condition but we don’t know the state if the inside. The gardens, too, are closed. All we can do is ride along the edge of the late which has somewhat stagnant water at various extremities.

We set off for the return trip. I can ride but Ro finds the supposedly gentle slope otherwise. We end up walking most of the way back to the camp. A refreshing swim returns us to comfort and we have a quiet night before bed at 10.30.

Sunday 14th July 2013 Nottingham, England

The day is not as warm as yesterday so the seductive surrounding is easier to resist. We will travel to York despite being given names of places nearby we ‘simply cannot miss’.

By the time we have chatted to Roy, our Samaritan friend for an hour or so and emptied and filled tanks, we leave around lunchtime.

We drive through verdant countryside and through small villages. Along the way we see a sign for Clumber Park, a National Trust site where we think we could stop for coffee. Out National Trust membership provides free entry but a five minute drive seems to take us nowhere. We stop by the road in a forest clearing which is delightful and have our coffee before returning to the park entry. Further up the road we discover another entrance within which is the Clumber Park home and gardens.  However, we have since read the National Trust book and it notes that the manor was demolished many years ago so we may not have missed much.

By 3.30 we are in York. Our first stop is for provisions as they are quite low. Arriving at 3.45 we have 15 minutes until closing. We are last out.

Driving through York we are astounded at the number of people. Soon we see glimpses of the medieval city which is the most complete in Europe. This explains the crowds. But parking is not easy. As it is late, we will go to our camp site, 6 miles away, and return tomorrow.

We find our campsite easily and after a swim in the 30 degree pool, set up for the night.

Monday 15th July 2013 York, England

The morning is cloudless and warm. The seduction begins. We have a late breakfast then a swim. The seduction continues. It is only with superhuman  fortitude that we depart for York which promises a tourist mecca. The mecca we look forward to: the tourists we don’t.

As fate would have it, it is not the tourists we should have feared but the local traffic aided and abetted by a road closure. Not content with leaving us idling in traffic for 45 minutes, the MotorHome nemeses then conspire to make every parking place we visit height restricted. Someone hates motorhomes. We even google motor home parking in York and are informed even the Park N Ride sites are height restricted. We begin to feel York does not want us.

When all else fails, go shopping….. at Lidl. They welcome shoppers of any creed. Their parks are not height restricted. So it is that we have coffee again in a Lidl carpark before purchasing those things we forgot yesterday.

We will try once a more before abandoning our search for a MH friendly park. Most areas around York are Permit Only or 1 hour paid parking. It is with great relief we find an area near a race course where we can park. Checking with a local, we determine that restrictions only apply on race days. Hooray!!

Unloading our trusty bikes we cycle in 28 degree heat to the walled city.  The first attraction we visit is    Clifford’s Tower, a ruin dating back to Roman times. We are inveigled into joining British Heritage rather than paying the 9 pounds to walk around a small shell of rock. Between British Heritage and National Trust, the remainder of our trip is largely predetermined.  However, the view up the stone spiral staircase and  around the top of the walls is priceless. The only question is: should we have paid 56 pounds for it.

It is from our 56 pound viewing point that we see the carpark immediately below us which takes motorhomes, delivery vans and all manner of over height vehicles.

Mounting our trusty bikes we cycle to Minster, the York cathedral build in the Gothic style which is considered the best example of that architecture. The streets are crowded and we doggedly avoid the streams of pedestrians. With just a smidgeon of conceit we observe that other cyclists will not brave the crowds. Our conceit is diminished by a sign at the far end proclaiming it a pedestrian precinct allowing no vehicles, including bicycles.

Entering the cathedral, awe struck as ever, we gaze on the vaulted nave  which is a similar height to Norwich but significantly wider. The vaulting is far less complicated and ornate. Maybe we can move on without savouring all the architectural nuances the building has to offer.

Re entering the pedestrian precinct, this time, following an  epiphany, on foot, we enjoy the meandering streets with eclectic architecture either side until we come across the “original  Teddy Bear Shop” above which is a tea room which rather remarkably is empty. Despite the negative connotations  that fortuitously empty places have had in the past, this one is delightful. We walk to the upper level where my hair rubs against the ceiling, the floors are far from level and the original internal timber beams are exposed. A fan tries to circulate the warm humid air and a small window is open to the street below.

I have coffee and cinnamon toast  and Ro has a sundae and cold drink. Back at street level we return to our bikes and cycle to the Rail Museum. This is the largest rail museum in Europe and is crowded with tourists. Far from being the haunt of only rail enthusiasts, the museum has carriages once used by royalty, relics of the steam age, 100 locomotives(!!) and a number of model railways. These are all housed in a period railway station plus what may or may not be purpose built buildings. It is a somewhat unlikely but hugely popular attraction.

Mounting our bikes again, we use Thomas to guide us back to the van where we tie on the bikes and return to our camp site of last night. It is nice to return to a familiar site and we immediately have a swim in the beautifully warm pool.

Let’s hope tomorrow is lousy weather so we can make an early start. But, knowing our luck, it will probably be perfect again.

Tuesday 16th July 2013 York, England

Another perfect day. Two swims, a bit of van cleaning and vacuuming and we are  reluctantly ready to move on.

Setting Thomas to Scarborough  via non motorways we journey through the usual roads, varying from wannabe motorways to wannabe footpaths. We take a few roads which look to be closer to the coast and enjoy some off the beaten track views.

In Europe, temporary traffic lights are common where road works close one side of the road for 20 to 100 metres. Why they do this is unclear as the give and take driving required where cars may legally park and all but block off one lane require no such lights and seem to work without incident. One such set of lights in an out of the way road is showing red. We wait for some minutes, joking that we should turn off the engine as that normally hurries them up. We wait…. and wait….. and wait. Finally we turn off the engine and as the engine dies, the green light shines. Rarely do I have an  epiphany ( apart from the one yesterday)  but this is close. Don’t tell me there’s no Grand Design.

Continuing on with occasional glimpses of the sea, we arrive at Scarborough. As we drive along the beachfront road there are crowds of people, like ants, on both footpaths, on the brown sandy beach and even some in the water. Apart from the people in the water, this is quintessentially Britain at the Beach. The unseasonably hot weather helps and acres of pale skin are on show.

There are pinball parlours one after the other and a Luna Park. That there is no parking within this teaming mini metropolis goes without saying. That we don’t wish  to park here also goes without saying. We continue on to a less populated area where we can stop and have coffee overlooking the remarkably calm sea where a wall allows us to see a disembodied head scooting up and down, presumably on a jetski.

We are happy to move on to Whitby along the coast road where, after 40 minutes we will reach   Whitby Abbey, a gothic ruins which we want to see.    

The first sight is quite breathtaking. The perfectly blue sky frames the remaining turrets and arches which are blackened with age.  Bram Stoker used this abbey ruins as the setting of his book Dracula and it has an eeriness completely appropriate to that tale. However it also has a beauty about it and we keep looking at it as we approach.

It is an English Heritage site so our membership gives us free entry, including the audio guide, which is very informative. Ro has trouble knowing when to stop taking photos as each turn presents more magnificent images against the still perfect sky. I am taken by the numerous cross sections presented due to the ruination which show some of the techniques in building these astounding structures. We can see cross sections of vaulting, columns, walls, floors and more.  The complete columns look like a series of individual semicircular columns around the circumference of the 1.5 metre diameter supports. However, the staggered cross section reveals that the segments are carved to look like separate columns  but interleaved as one, two or three column segments. This gives architectural beauty  but great structural integrity.

After two hours we have seen what we want and continue on to our campsite near Durham. We are delighted when Thomas says we have arrived at our destination and there is the gate. The site has untimed, hot showers so is a five star park on our scale.

Wednesday 17th July 2013 Durham, England

We have Beamish on our list and the locals advise us we will not be disappointed. It is called a ‘Living Museum’ and was proposed 30 years ago by a university lecturer who saw historic buildings being demolished and lost to posterity.  Now the site is well developed with relocated structures in various authentic and historically correct periods over a 300 acre site. It is said that we will step back in time 100 years.  If parking is close by and we step out of the van, we will only step back 80 years, but that is close enough.

It opens at 10 so we want to be on the steps by then. Unsurprisingly we are not but we are there by 10.20, just in time to slip in before 28 bus loads of children. Here’s hoping the 300 acres can absorb the not so little darlings without them getting under our feet. I am nothing if not tolerant.

An audio visual acquaints us with the times and what the site has to offer. Then out into the daylight and we are back in time. All volunteers and paid staff are in period dress; unpleasantly hot today we think. There is a 3 or 4 km long tramway with electric trams of various periods from late 1800s to 1940s. Trams are open double decked (very pleasant today) with one single decked one which looks more like a boat than a tram. Later we hear the driver referring to it as the boat. There are also replica double and single decked buses from similar periods, a steam train and horse drawn vehicles. As the entry ticket covers everything in the park, we are free to utilize all forms of transport. Well, not quite, as the steam train does not run today. But there is a steam driven merry go round which may be considered a form of transport. It is no more circular than is the tramway; just a smaller diameter.

First we tram it to the village. Here we can walk through upper and lower levels of houses, a solicitor’s office,  a dentist’s  surgery,  a number of shops, a motor garage , a livery,  a bank and , appropriately, a music teacher’s residence. The village is set up as authentic of the time, if somewhat smaller in area. For us, it is impossible to tell that it is other than  authentic. Furnishings and finishes are of the period, which for this area is around 1913.

A horse drawn wagon has emerged from the livery. We hurry to its stop and can get a ride for about  2 km to the manor house. This is original.  However, the layers of paint and trappings of modernity over the last 200 odd years have been stripped away leaving the building authentically early 1800s. We can walk to any room with only a cord at the door of most rooms preventing us from  living within the space. This is better than any museum we have ever seen.

Visiting the colliery, home farm, village and manor takes us until 5pm when we get the last tram back. We had decided that we did not need another day but back at our campsite, the same as last night, we think there were some areas we missed. Out ticket entitles us to entry to the site for one year so maybe we will visit again tomorrow for an hour or two…….

Thursday 18th July 2013 Durham, England

We are going back to Beamish for a few hours as there are some things we have missed. We plan to be there by 10, the opening time. Unsurprisingly we are not. WE ARE THERE BY 9.35!!!

As the buses roll in, we read until 10 then go to the entrance. Feeling ever so pleased with ourselves, we walk past the lengthening queue, flash our Annual Tickets and proceed snootily to the entry. But we are called back for our tickets to be checked. Less snootily we proceed again to the entry.

There are crowds of people waiting for the tram so we think; to hell with it…. we will walk the 200 metre to the mine. Collecting  hardhats from two coal wagons, we adjust them and enter the lamp room where we learn about different types of safety lamp. We will not require one as we only enter about 100 metre and there is 21^st century lighting installed. We also learn that the area we are in which was a working mine for over 100 years has been opened and recovered with reinforced concrete to protect the precious tourists.  I can imagine that a collapse would be worse for business today than when the mine was operating. We stoop to walk through the mine, stopping at two points to learn about the life of a miner. It may come as no surprise that the life and life expectancy  were both poor.

Next we cross to the Wagonway which has a replica of Stephenson’s Loco Motive, a two vertical cylinder engine which was one of the first forms of rail locomotion. The two cylinder shafts extend upward with cross beams connected to vertical shafts which in turn connect to the wheels. They are offset so that if one wheel is at top dead centre, the other is not. A horizontal shaft ties the two wheels together.

The Loco Motion takes some hours to get up a head of steam so it is not running yet. It will run about 1pm but we expect to be gone by then.

Next we take a tram to the village, 2 km away. We want to see the bank and Masonic Hall. We still have trouble believing that all which is here has been relocated within the past 30 years, with the exception of the farm, the manor and the drift mine. The bank, we learn, is actually two or three buildings, but still authentic to the period. We see the manager’s tiny office, the tellers area and, below the bank, the strongrooms. All very interesting and remarkably recreated.

The Masonic Hall is equally fascinating. It includes various Masonic chairs and other Grand High Poohbah regalia, although I could have the misremembered the terminology  there.

From there we walk to the steam driven merry go round. Aghast! There is a one pound 50 charge per rider. But try to keep us off it!   Waiting patiently until the four children and two sexagenarians on the previous ride complete theirs, we select our horses, whose names I have forgotten, and mount in excited expectation. The steam whistle blows and we are away. The little steam engine puffs and wheezes as we accelerate to a rather remarkable speed. I had noted that the poles which lift the horses were slanted inward and now I know why. Lights over the whole machine flash  old world  razz matazz and 1915 style fun parlour music blares from speakers. The steam powered pianola organ is  temporarily rendered inoperable due to a fault in the small steam engine which normally drives it, but the ambience is not lost.

We walk to a station where a steam train provides rides on weekends. There is an engine shed from 1800s, once again all relocated. Even the rail sleepers and rail connection pins look original. It is all incredible.

The day is quite hot: over 30 degrees. It is thus far the hottest July in recorded history. We have spent more than our allocated 2 hours and have covered all the extras we wanted to see or do except another horse ride. We have not seen the horses and assume that the weather is considered too hot for them to work in.

But the thought of leaving without a ride behind the Loco Motion is unthinkable to me. Because we are over out intended time, it will probably be running now. We take a tram to the Wagonway and are in time to board the train.  The four carriages are a peculiar lot. One covered car is about 900 mm wide with two heavy timber bench seats the length of the carriage . The other two are high sided open carriages with heavy bench seats across the carriage. Both look like nothing discernible from modern times.

The ride is 200 metre along a track and then back.  The engine starts its journey with surprisingly little noise or issuing of steam. A quiet hiss on each stroke is all we hear. The carriages are a different matter as they clank and bang as one after another they follow the engine. At the end of the track, we wait for close to one minute as valves are altered and the engine starts its return journey. The pace of life was noticeably slower then.

We have blown our 2 hour target by 1 ½ times so we luxuriate in a tram ride all the way around the track to the exit point. We are back in the van by 1.45, less than double our expected visiting time. Not bad for us!

After considering whether we might spend another night in the now familiar surroundings of the past two nights, we instead opt to drive to Hadrian’s wall, about an hour away.

Arriving by 3 we have lunch in the carpark then enter the site. It is nearly a kilometre walk up hill and down dale to the site. It is still quite hot and Ro is not happy. Fortunately it starts to cloud over and we even have a few drops of rain.

The site is quite remarkable. It is quite extensive and though only foundations to waist height remain, placards explain details to which the foundations elude. The precision of the work is amazing. Walls are dead straight and square. The technology of heating, the baths, the hospital and medical knowledge all point to what an advanced society the Romans were. It is puzzling why such an advanced civilization should collapse and the technology disappear for so many centuries. There is a map showing the extent of the Roman Empire and it covered all of Europe to about the now Russian boarder and all UK excluding Ireland and Scotland. Quite a remarkable civilization.

We have chosen a campsite near the National Trust home of Lord Armstrong,  named Cragside, which is famous as being the first hydroelectric powered house in the world. Surely that is a fairly elite group anyway. When we arrive, it is a Caravan Club site and we think we may be turned away as we are not members. Fortunately, the office closed half an hour ago and a  sign says to select a pitch and pay tomorrow.  The only downside is there is no mobile reception so we are a communication free zone. Just like a holiday should be!

Friday 19th July 2013 Rothbury, England

We are off early, with nerry a question as to our club membership. After 10 minutes we drive through a beautiful village called Rothbury  and seemingly untouched by modernity; apart from the ubiquitous automobile.

I am having some trouble with some allergic response so we call into the local pharmacy, which, to our relief does show  signs of modernity. A box fill of potions and we are on our way to the bakery where we get some delicious custard and apple slices, the latter of which we enjoy with coffee overlooking a river.

As we now have reception I check emails. Bad mistake. The flooding which our rental property had experienced last month repeated last night. This is the sort of news which takes the edge off a holiday, especially as the tone of the email reflected the significant displeasure the tenant was feeling toward the situation.

However it is now a bit late Melbourne time to be calling anyone so I write an email or two and will call our time midnight which will be early Melbourne time. In the mean time there is nothing that can be done but to enjoy Cragside.

Lord Armstrong started his career as a lawyer (though not a Lord then) but was an engineer through and through. He started his engineering business by providing a hydraulic lifting mechanism for dock cranes. The success of the first machine allowed him to generate vast wealth which he further advanced when he went into making armaments. When he died, he left an estate of ½ billon pounds, an unimaginable fortune. Cragside was built with some of the proceeds of that success and incorporates many ground breaking innovations for the times.

We arrive and park near  the Formal Garden. Lady Armstrong was as innovative in creating a garden as was her husband in his pursuits. There are tall rock gardens with meandering paths through ferny grottos, a large hot house and manicured grassy areas with paths running through.

There is a substantial iron bridge which crosses a 50 metre wide gully. This was made by one of Armstrong’s companies. Before we cross it, our attention is caught by the sign leading to the power house. This is where the hydro electricity was generated to light the house. As mentioned, this was the first such installation in the world and was designed by Armstrong. Along the way there is also a 5 metre diameter waterwheel which drives a pump supplying water to the gardens.

The powerhouse is the original building with the original equipment in place. The area is very much hands on and starts by demonstrating generation of power using a coil between fixed magnets. Next there is a hand operated pump which pumps water up to a tank. When a chain is pulled to release the water, a pelton wheel coupled to a small dynamo spins lighting some LED lamps in a model house. Next the actual pelton wheel is displayed, followed by a larger model driven by pressurised water. Finally the original equipment is displayed with an electric motor showing how it all moves. The concept development is excellent and the exhibition is very popular with school groups.

We walk up to the house. It is called Cragside as it is built from and into a rocky outcrop. It started as a relatively modest weekender and ended up as a 150 room mansion. The building continued for 30 years , as the house was constantly modified.

Starting in the kitchen, we see the lift which he built using one of the cylinders which started him in business to raise the lift over three floors. It was intended to save the house staff effort rather than to lift people. The rotisserie is water driven.  Hot and cold water is piped to all rooms and central underfloor heating was fed from a turkish bath system in the basement. There was a telephone system, totally unheard of at the time, if that is not a contradiction in terms. Armstrong’s innovation is evident everywhere. Perhaps being a multi millionaire when the term meant something may have helped.

The rooms are beautifully and mostly functionally furnished. There is, however, a  a gallery and grand salon were totally for show and beautifully decorated.

A few more rock gardens and we walk back over the iron bridge and back to the van.

The estate is huge and there is a 6 mile track we can drive around. The track is one way and involves driving through two stone arches under the house. The van fits without much trouble. However as we drive around the bitumen track, the van rubs on trees and bushes and only just fits. This, we discover, is because the pamphlet we have not read suggests a maximum size smaller than we are. Still, we come to no grief and leave about 6pm.

With the rather disastrous flooding situation in Melbourne, we need to decide whether we need to go home.   Retreating to a campsite just outside Newcastle which provides wifi, I settle in to a night of emailing and skyping.

Saturday 20th July 2013 Newcastle, England

Calls made into the early morning confirm our thoughts that we need to go home. Although we are confident a solution is likely to be discovered by Monday, the flack likely from the flooding events means staying here is an unattractive option. The problems have never been far from my mind and interfere with enjoyment of our journey. Though I am not a fatalist, the number of things that have gone wrong make my emotional side think that this trip was never meant to be. Fatalism aside, staying here seems not to be an option. Brad , Kevin and Scot have all been greatly helpful but the fact is the buck stops here. And the buck needs to be in Australia.

We still need to take the van back to Calais. We can drive to Dover in 6 hours and could get a ferry tonight if we can change our booking. Air fares are another matter. The low price we paid precludes changing the flight times. Furthermore, neither the ferry nor the air ticket can be changed on internet. Nor do the call numbers supplied work on our UK phone. We ring Janice and Allan to see whether we could get their help and they readily offer assistance.  After a brief discussion we decide that perhaps we can use public phones to sort out our travel.

Selecting Motorways on the GPS, an unfamiliar choice for us, we start our trip to Dover. Motorways are rather soulless but achieve goals. In what seems like a fairly short period of time, we are near London, passing within a few kilometres of the centre on the motorway.

As we drive, Ro notices a sign to Sidcup and Orpington. We had not intended bothering Allan and Janice but we think that as we are so close, maybe we can prevail upon them to help. We phone and they are more than happy to help. Within 15 minutes we are there.

They are having dinner and, not wanting to impose, we retreat to their office and make some phone calls. Ferry amendments cannot be made tonight as the office is closed although someone we speak with agrees when we inquire that if we turn up at the port they could probably get us on a ship tonight.

Air France office closed half an hour ago and opens tomorrow at 9. On hearing our dilemma, Janice invites us to stay the night and sort it out tomorrow. We say we will sleep in the van but she insists we stay there so we gratefully accept.

Sunday 21st July 2013 Sidcup, England

 I am on the phone by 9 to Air France. However, Air France has no telephone queuing and after 5 calls it is unlikely we will get through any time soon. On a whim I call Air France in Australia on skype. The operator listens to the details and says the ticket is non refundable and non alterable. He is sorry but he cannot do anything. Perhaps I might like to try head office in Paris. Perhaps pigs might fly. And even if they did, French pigs would not work on Sundays or during smoko or else there would be some other impediment.

We will buy new tickets. The airline sites will sell us a one way single for exorbitant prices. Singapore quoted 17,000 somethings which I don’t think were lire or baht or any other lollipop currency (not to disparage any currency, just the A$ conversion) .  Skyscanner trawls for cheap fares so that was a good starting point.

We can get a 25 hour flight with a good carrier for 850 pounds per person. But actually getting hold of the ticket seems allusive. By the time we enter details, the tickets are not available. Eventually we get a 32 hour flight with Qantas/Emirates for 940 pounds per person, arriving Avalon at 2.30 on Thursday and departing CDG 9.50pm Tuesday. Six hours of the travel time will be spent in Sydney and I subsequently realise I should have terminated in Sydney and got a local flight to Tullamarine. Maybe next time we cancel out trip at short notice.

Our ferry trip has been altered to half past midnight tonight. We farewell Janice and Allan, thanking them again for their hospitality, and drive to Dover, about 1 ½ hours away. Arriving about 3pm after a bit of shopping on the way for the next few meals, we have some hours to kill. Allan has suggested we visit Dover Castle which has had a lot of money sunk into it by English Heritage. Below the castle is a labyrinth of tunnels dating from Roman times but more recently used in WWII which are said to be very interesting. However, as time is short, we opt instead to walk along the top of the White Cliffs of Dover.

The paths on the cliffs go perilously close to the sheer cliff faces. The wind is significant and Ro finds it a bit unnerving. But the views are great and the coolish wind helps the otherwise oppressive heat.

Returning to the van by 6, we drive to the water front where there is a motorhome city of vehicles most likely  waiting for ferry trips. One of the things we love about a motorhome is that we can shower in the main street and no one knows or cares! This will mean we can go straight to bed when we reach Calais. By 11.30  we are in the queue to board and by 12.30 we are away.

It is  about an hour before we climb back into the van to drive off the ferry. It is all remarkably efficient and only takes 10 or 15 minutes. It is 2.30 local time and we are tired. A short drive and we find a parking spot where we can sleep for the remainder of the night.  

Monday 22nd July 2013 Calais, France

Awaking  early, we are on the road by 8am. We will stay at a camp site tonight to clean out the tanks and do our preparation for wintering the van. We choose a campsite near the sea about 20 kilometers from Beaurainville where we will leave the van.

The campsite is in sand dunes and where we park is sandy. Too sandy. We get bogged and the way the wheels spin, we will stay bogged. The roaring of the engine and the sight of the van digging itself into the sand attracts the attention of the local boys and within minutes we have 20 men of all ages offering advise in French and ready to provide motive power. The first attempt does nothing. A bit of digging in front of the rear wheels and we start to move. Some more digging and we are free. All part of their holiday entertainment. After the excitement, they resume their holiday pursuits, which to us generally look less exciting than extracting a bogged vehicle.

By the time we have packed, cleaned and done a bit of maintenance it is bed time.

Tuesday 213rd July 2013 Somewhere near Beaurainille, France   

We said to the proprietors of The Longhouse in Beaurainville we would be there about 8am. Because of a poor sleep we actually arrive about 9. That is no problem, although they do need to leave by 1 for an appointment. Our train leaves Beaurainville for CDG at 1.25 so we need to be ready well before then.

The day is quite hot and the final closing up is a bit unpleasant. By 11.30 we have done all we need to and are ready to leave. We hope that this year everything will be better aired. We don’t need a tarp because the van is undercover and to further help airing we  stand cushions up and drape bedding about the place.

Jackie has offered to drive us to the station about 15 minutes walk away. She checks that we have got all we need and we think we have. It turns out we are wrong about that but not with any major items.

Our prebooked  tickets have to be picked up at the station but the station is unmanned. Ro asks a local in halting French what we need to do and the man seems to say we can sort it out with the conductor on board.

We have 1 ½ hours to wait which goes fairly quickly. On board, the conductor looks at the sheet, starts a communication in French then shrugs his shoulders when  I can’t respond. All is OK it seems. One and a half hous later we disembark at Arras, the line terminus where we get the TGV. This station is manned so we go to get tickets there. But the counter person cannot find the booking and wants to see the card on which they were purchased. All discussed with Ro in French. As we rummages through possible cards we might have used, she locates the tickets and we can go to the platform once it is listed 15 minutes before departure, which we now understand is the system.

On each TGV platform is an electronic sign which shows the train number, time and carriage positions.On the platform are fixed positions ABCDEF etc. We need carriage 3 and the sign shows the carriage will be between markers D and E. We can stand there and know the carriage will be opposite us. This is sometimes critical if the train only stops for 40 seconds. It is also important because the small LED sign on the carriage showing it is carriage 3, which may or may not be working, overrides the 400 mm   high painted number which proclaims the carriage as number 2.  Another slight complication is that the train number is one digit different from that on the ticket. We confirm with two English speaking passengers that this train goes to CDG, so all is well. Later I note they are checking the numbers also as their tickets don’t match the train number. We decide we will all be in the same boat (or train) if it goes somewhere else but feel confident all the discrepancies is covered by the French ‘un petit suggestion’ philosophy coupled with a shrug of the shoulders. We end up at CDG an hour later so all is well.

We are now old hands at  the trip from  the TGV station to the checkin desks. We don’t even have to beg the staff for directions; we go straight to the Aeroflot checkin. The transition from Aeroflot to Emirates does not  occur for one hour and a half, the unsmiling checkin chick informs me. Maybe Aeroflot does not include smiling in its customer charter. Or maybe it is because she is French.

This is an opportunity to find Air France ticketing to see if we can get a refund or transfer  of our return ticket. Ro opts to stay where she is after the sign tells us it is seven minutes walk away and it is quite hot. I take off at full stride, steaming past slow walkers on the moving walkway and standing inside the comfort zone of those who block my way on the walkway until they move aside. In the absence of a personal warning device, it is at times like these I can see the value in having bad body odour.

Air France ticketing is even hotter than the terminal. The French are very adept at dissuading people from lingering and making life difficult. I linger a short while in the queue before an unoccupied operator grants me an audience. She is formal but helpful. But after checking various options, it is decided the ticket is non alterable and non refundable, which is what I had expected. She does offer a helpful suggestion that if I cancel the ticket, I may get a refund of airport taxes which she thinks may be some hundreds of dollars. So not all bad.

Returning to Ro, it is getting close to transition time at the checkin desk so we join a short queue and within a short time are finally free of our wheely bags.

We have a few hours to while away and it transpires we have an extra half hour as the plane has been delayed. Finally we board our A380. The seats we have been allocated are the last in the row, next to the toilet. The occasional flush is the downside, a seemingly slightly greater   incline angle and no one to upset behind are the upsides. It is a 6 hour flight to Dubai and it passes fairly quickly and comfortably.

Wednesday 24th July 2013 In Transit to Dubai

We have a four hour wait at Dubai which has not decreased despite the late take off in Paris because tail winds have improved our flight time. The Dubai airport we see is quite impressive but there seems to be little there other than shops, shops and more shops…….. and attendants. The attendants seem to outnumber the shoppers. Escaping the attention of the attendants is quite impossible so quiet browsing is futile. Instead we retreat to an outcrop of lounge chairs which are in great demand. They allow one to lie recumbent so sleep comes easily, only broken by ones feet being bumped by other travellers manoeuvring their luggage down the too narrow aisles.

Our Dubai to Sydney leg is also in an A380 but this time on the port side with another passenger in the window seat. She is Australian and we have a few interesting discussions after discovering we have similar views on a range of topics. She is conscious of inconveniencing us when she needs to stretch her legs or un stretch other parts of her anatomy during the 13 hour flight. However, when she needs to move about, we are equally happy to do the same so the journey passes with everyone happy and comfortable.

At Sydney we pass through immigration and quarantine. Some years ago, Ro missed her flight from Sydney to Melbourne  because she thought it left from the Domestic Terminal when it actually left  from International. Thus we expected that the next leg to Avalon would be from the International terminal. Wrong! We have to take the bus to the Domestic Terminal for $11 cash which we don’t have. The money changers are happy to give me $20.80 for 20 euro, a ripoff I think, so that is what happens.

We still have 4 hours or so before our flight but that seems to pass quickly, maybe because we are tired, and by 2.40pm we are at Avalon where Scot has offered to pick us up.

By 4.30pm  we are home at last. Our adventure is prematurely over and now the work begins…….