Plan "B"

Hello friends! January is coming to a close and so much has happened since I last wrote. We had a fantastic trip to the Isle of Jura and Islay in Scotland over the Christmas break. The scenery was just breathtaking and it was such a terrific opportunity for me to take photos and for Rick to immerse himself (or bathe, if he could get away with it) in distillery hunting and Scotch sampling. I had good fun of an evening when we were tucked into our hotel room creating albums on Facebook to mark our journey. I know our families appreciated being kept up to date on our travels. It was also nice to look back on the day’s adventures.

If you ever felt that you needed to get away, I mean really get away (and not some 5 star all inclusive somewhere swanky), these islands and in particular Jura would be the place to lose yourself. There were times I often felt, when I was standing on a mossy hill with the wind whipping fiercely against me, that there was just no way I could possibly capture the awesomeness of what I was seeing through my lens. How could such expansiveness be so beautiful? Perhaps it was just that. The physical openness allowed my mind to expand too. I found myself considering things about my life that I hadn’t before (like how short our lives really are, what it is that holds us back from doing the things we really want to do with our lives, and if I died tomorrow I would be a happy and content girl). I know, odd things to think about, but that is a sampling of what was rambling around in my head.

The single biggest disappointment with this trip was that the Jura Distillery was closed. Rick was crushed. We came all that way and stayed specifically in the hotel (and the only one on the island) solely for the purpose of visiting the distillery next door. At one point, I thought that Rick was going to walk across the street and start banging and shaking the doors begging them to open up for heaven’s sake. But instead, he pouted when we passed it on our walk to check out the village. One thing there wasn’t a shortage of on the island were wild goats and gosh did they ever stink! And they pooped everywhere. I bet it must drive the locals nuts having the pesky buggers munching their hedges and leaving their business behind. They did make for some great photos, though, so I won’t go on about their bad points.

Speaking of odd smells when we were in Tarbet, we caught a whiff of something in the air that was a bit like sulphur but almost like charcoal. It turns out that they often use coal in their fireplaces. It is funny how smells can stir up memories and this will be etched in my mind forever as Scotland. I took a stab at stoking the fireplace in the pub in the town of Portnahaven. We stayed two nights there (foolishly now we realize that it really was at the end of Islay) in the Burnside Lodge and the wind was so wicked that it made our bedroom windows whistle and the extractor fan in the loo rattle all night. And it was a good job we had black out curtains because the lighthouse would flash through our window as it scanned the harbour.

And back at the pub, we found ourselves making friends with some of the local men (a tall fellow we will call Boomhower because god knows what he was saying, and the young bartender who was a business graduate who knew nothing about the Scotch he served, and the short, mouthy fella who was a Scottish version of Rick and coincidentally they almost got into a fighting match when the Scottish version called the Canadian version an “American”) quickly became our source of entertain in this one pub town. I don’t think this pub (or the village) was the same after we left.

And how about that Scottish accent now we are talking about not understanding someone? There is something about the Scottish accent that does it for me. The guy could be less than desirable (in my opinion) but gosh darn it when he starts with that phlegmy argh that borders on pirate talk, I picture bloody Sean Connery and I am a Missy Weak Knees. And I also believe that it has something to do with the kilt and what does (or erm doesn’t) accompany it.

Okay, getting my mind back on track.... So really between the shortbread (good grief there goes the diet), the amazing selection of Scotch, the crisp salty air, the ever changing and dramatic skies, and that seductive accent, well guess where we will be going camping this summer?

And while I am speaking of photos, the opportunity to take more didn’t end with our Christmas trip to the islands. Twice now I have had my photos printed in the Harlow Star “Photo of the Week” segment. The photo of the frosty forest was the day after we had what was called freezing fog and my photo appeared in their special featured called "Cold Snapped". The one of the ducks on the frozen pond was the day after we had a snowstorm. The snow is all gone now, of course, but this photo was printed in their "Snow Patrol" section and it is a great way to remember the storm in January.

Perhaps travel writing and photography, as plan "B", is not such a bad idea after all.

The Souks of Sheffield

The last three weekends have been jammed with touring and each location had its own unique qualities that reminded me why I truly love travelling throughout this country.

We drove just outside of Cambridge and on the advice of one of Rick's coworkers did the park and ride into the centre of town. Travel and parking would be tricky and taking the bus gave us a chance to both see the town without stressing about where to park and how the heck to get back out of the town once we were heading back home. The British signage is poor at best and if you don't live here you don't deserve to know where you are going is what Rick and I chant whenever we get twisted around and the signs are sorely lacking to guide us along the way.

So in Cambridge there are a lot of people that bike and it reminded me quite a bit of Amsterdam in that regard. You certainly had to watch where you were going when you were crossing the street as bikers zoom pass you and they are not always easy to spot or hear so it would be simple to get blindsided. The shops were mostly upscale and the streets narrow and cobble stone laden (Rick has to watch he doesn’t twist an ankle) and we did some Christmas shopping in a market.

Of course, Cambridge is known for its university and when we stopped for lunch, I struck up a conversation with a young lad sitting at the table next to us. When he went to the loo and left his plate of onion rings, I told Rick it would be so much fun to take them and when he returned start eating them and see how he would react. It turned out that he was from Brazil and taking his PhD in physics at the uni. What a bright and engaging boy he was. He actually offered to share his onion rings with us after I confessed what we joked about doing with them.

The best fun we had in a while was getting together for a weekend at the end of November in Sheffield with our good friends Susanne and Steve Holland and Jill and Arthur Armstrong. These are the folks we met in Morocco and we all hit it off so well that we have kept in touch since December 2010 and had a previous reunion in Nottingham in February 2011.

Sheffield didn’t disappoint as we left our hotel room and had a night out on the town, despite the fact that it was pouring rain and quite cold. We hopped on a tram (actually crammed onto one), and when the trolley jolted at each stop we wobbled and fell into each other and giggled like a bunch of school kids. We asked a fellow passenger where the best place was to eat and he recommended a Chinese food all you can eat restaurant and we thanked him and King Arthur and Ricky lead the way along the wet streets.

Well, we didn’t find the “all you can eat” place but we did find another fabulous Chinese restaurant that appeared to be popular with the local Chinese community. And feast we did. The food was more than all six of us could handle and it was incredibly fresh and delightful.

The next morning we did a tour of downtown Sheffield which I would describe as historically modern (now that’s an oxymoron) and we came across a market that Rick claimed took months for him to plan. And what to our wondering eyes did appear but a section of tents with vendors selling their wares..... from Morocco! I was so pumped to find a cosmetic and spice stall so I could buy my favourite beauty item of argan oil.

We stopped for a latte in the Sleigh Bar (with a shot of Bailey’s, of course) to warm up our fingers and toes and I just had to sit in Santa’s sack to get my picture taken. With our bellies warmer, we carried on and did some window shopping and just generally enjoyed each other’s company and conversation.

We are already planning our next adventure together and options that were discussed, after too much Chinese food and fizzy drinks, were Benidorm (Rick and I so enjoyed our trip there in April 2011 and having a group go would be that much more memorable) or a Riad in Morocco (no five star hotel outside of Marrekech we want to be in the heart of the action next time). I know, however, that where ever this crew goes, that laughter, good food, and great stories will be high on the agenda.

I Wanna Ride the Pony.

Last weekend we had great fun checking out Old Harlow and Churchgate and found a house that was for sale that we loved. When we came home and looked it up on-line and almost gagged on our cheap UK wine (how we miss being clobbered by the LCBO back in Canada– not!) when we saw the listed price of 399,000 pounds! Good grief, Charlie Brown, why are houses so expensive here? And secondly, how do the average Brits afford to buy a place? I do find that rather disappointing in that we (okay well mostly me) would like to own again. I often struggle with the whole rent versus own dilemma but after Ricky spent 12 years working endlessly on our place in Douro, I know he is not eager to take on another “do it yourselfer” anytime soon.

When I stopped in Churchgate to ask the local butcher if I could take a picture of his shop, he asked where we were from (gosh people are so friendly here too by the way). When I explained that we were Canadians, he asked if we were associated with the Memorial University of Newfoundland’s campus in Harlow. I had heard that there was a Canadian connection but wasn’t sure until we chatted with him. His girls were adorable with their ratty hair and unmatched outfits. They stared at us while we chatted with their father and the oldest reminded me of a young ratty-haired Molly in her cropped Hello Kitty t-shirt and black patent shoes. She’d be embarrassed by her lack of style and disheveled hair now, no doubt!

After touring the little village, we just had to wet our whistles in the local pub. I felt like a celebrity as we sat and sipped on our tea, as the locals got into a staring match. The couple sitting behind us at another table gawked when we ordered our drinks; another at the bar examined us when we chatted with the bartender. The young lad behind the bar had to mind his head on the beams in the low ceiling and they had to stoop when they came through the door from the kitchen. He didn’t ogle at us and we had a good discussion about the dangers of his job and how Rick and I, obviously due to our small stature, would be ideal as barkeeps in there. I think he found our discussion, about work related injuries, amusing.

Then on Sunday, we got out on our bikes (mine incidentally was sorely lacking in the gear changing and brakes department and we rode for over an hour before I finally got cranky about my bike. Rick didn’t realize it was not up to snuff and was wondering what all the whining was about – Gee go figure) and hit the nearby trails and stopped to pat the ponies in the fields along the way. We both commented on how much happier we are living here in Harlow compared to Dartford. I think it is our close proximity to the countryside and the area being more open and green.

The other wonderful surprise for us is the fall colours in the trees and the collection of fallen leaves that we just didn’t get in Kent. As Canadians, we get the most spectacular colours in the fall and being in England last time lead me to believe that we would not experience that again. So when the trees here started turning and they don’t go bright red like in Ontario but the yellows are brilliant I was so friggen happy. I wanted to scoop up the leaves, toss them over my head, and jump in a pile like a freckle-faced 10 year old fool. It is funny how simple things like that can bring you such joy.

When we had biked to the point that I had to stop and walk instead of ride, given its condition, Rick could hear the pub on our street calling us and we made our way home. But no bike ride is complete without some sort of injury and I greeted the hedge down the street with my face and the seat of my bike greeted my woo hoo with the same eagerness that my mouth expressed loudly my sheer displeasure with the tumble that I was sure it would be some time before I could venture out and do this again. As I hobbled the remainder of the way back home, Rick waiting with a look of “what is the problem now” written on his face, I knew the next drink was not going to be tea. And before I talk about the pub next I tell you when Rick took my bike out for a spin while I sat inside with a bag of frozen peas on my well “you know” he told me he didn’t realize how rough it really was and apologized for not sorting this when he first did the maintenance when we bought them. And like the good man that he is, he got right to straightening out the kinks but I still was not feeling the love on the concept of jumping back on that horse just yet to try out the improvements. I’ll save that for next weekend’s touring.

So the pub that is 88 steps from our house is just a peach. There are three sections to the pub and each would cater to whatever type of atmosphere appeals to you (pool table, loud music, and boisterous drinkers in one end and the restaurant serving 2 for one meals in the other). We like the Snug which is in the centre. It is quiet and cozy with a fireplace and leather chairs and dark wooden beams on a low ceiling (just like the pub in Churchgate). Book your parties here, the chalkboard sign says, and Rick thinks he would like to celebrate his 60th. I think he just wanted to be able to have a nap in there. I’ll keep that in mind, I tell him. I’ve got some serious work to do then, my friends. We chatted once again with a female bartender and she asked where we were from. Funny how your nationality comes up on a regular basis here and at home we hardly give it any notice. I don’t mind to be honest. It gives you an ice breaker and an opener when speaking to a stranger. I like that. I like even more that we can explore new places again too even if it means I’ll be choosing padded seats for a while.