Category Archives: England

Spain

Walking the wall around Girona.
Walking the wall around Girona.

Father’s Day saw us in Teesside putting out 101 fires for the family whilst we were supposed to be packing for Spain. Eventually, we got everything sorted convinced everyone they would survive a few days without us, and we made our way to Newcastle Airport.

When we last stayed overnight at the airport, it was the Doubletree, which was incredibly disappointing, because they were out of cookies when we arrived and the next delivery (What?! For those prices, one can reasonably expect fresh-baked.) was after we checked out. This time, we stayed at the much less posh Britannia. With lower prices come lower expectations, but we really weren’t expecting a bunk bed to be jammed up against our bed, creating a prison vibe with its safety bars. I’m all for making the most of a small space, but I also like to walk around a room, rather than sidle around or climb over furniture.

On our way in, we had seen the restaurant roped off section of the lobby, and decided to take our chances at the gas station. A wise choice, I suspect. Also, I got to hear the guy in front of me ask for jah-la-pee-nos on his sub. It’s the little things in life.

We had a 6:30AM flight. Fortunately, Newcastle Airport is much easier to deal with than Manchester, and Jet2 had sufficient staff working to keep everything moving smoothly. When we arrived in Spain, it was even better—there was no passport control or customs, just baggage claim and out the door. EU FTW!

Inside Girona Cathedral
Inside Girona Cathedral
Girona Cathedral
Girona Cathedral

Craig had made detailed plans, as usual, for maximum enjoyment of our time. However, he made one small error. He thought Girona was a five-hour drive from Malaga airport, but it was actually more like seven hours. It’s a nice drive, so I didn’t mind, but I did feel bad for him, since we couldn’t share the driving.

We had booked an apartment in Montjuic with a terrace, but when we arrived, we were put on the ground floor, and our apartment was missing some things. So, we were moved (to another ground floor apartment) and over the next twelve hours, he brought us a fridge (with someone’s Coke still in it) and a washing machine (still wet from use). The guy was very friendly, and when we would go out in the morning, he would already be at work and he’d still be at it when we got home each evening, but the apartments really weren’t ready to be let out.

Fortunately, we didn’t go to Girona for the apartment. We went there for a soccer final. Which was sold out. We drove to the stadium early on the day to get tickets and when we found someone who looked like they could direct us to the ticket office, he just started laughing.

On to Plan B: hiking. We drove to Montseny Natural Park and hiked a bit of the GR 5. It was poorly marked in parts, and we got lost and ended up walking along the road to get back to the car.

With a map like this, how could we get lost?
With a map like this, how could we get lost?
With right way/ wrong way signs, how could we get lost?
With right way/ wrong way signs, how could we get lost?
Eek! A snake!
Eek! A snake!
Smiling through the pain.
Smiling through the pain.

The next day, we drove to Baza where we stayed in a cave. It was in a “neighborhood” of natural caves, but this one was clearly purpose built. Fine by me. We had a wood-burning stove inside and a built-in grill outside, so we grilled every evening and then had a fire inside.

This cave isn't ready for guests yet.
This cave isn’t ready for guests yet.
The cave hotel came with a dog.
The cave hotel came with a dog.

I would have been perfectly happy to laze around the cave. It was cool inside, and there were chairs to lounge in around the pool. The owners had a very friendly Alsatian who had a rock game he like to play: I would kick the rock and he would chase it. If I took too long, he would pick it up and drop it at my feet. He also made it clear that it was a kicking game, not a throwing game. I kind of wanted to take him home with us.

The dog teaching me to play his rock game.
The dog teaching me to play his rock game.

Lazing around isn’t on Craig’s to do list. So, we drove to Granada for a second division soccer match. We were able to find the stadium with the help of our phones (thanks Blue Dot!). The club shop sold us two tickets for €10 each. We later read in the paper that there was a two-for-one offer. 😛

Since we were in Granada, there was only one way to while away the afternoon until match time: tapas. We wandered from pub to pub having a Diet Coke at each. Apparently, in these times of austerity, that doesn’t rate a free tapa. Only two of the four pubs gave us a snack. They were delicious and filled us (me) up, so I shouldn’t complain. One was a pork loin open-faced sandwich and the other was chicken fried whole baby squid. Sounds yuck, tastes yum.

On our final full day in Spain, we drove to the nearby Baza National Park for a short hike. When we arrived, the information center was closed, so we found a circular path, and set off.

It was an easy walk and the path, leading to a lookout point, was well marked. However, it was very sunny and too hot for Craig, so despite only walking 4-5km, we didn’t look for another path when we got back to the starting point.

Instead, we drove 14km into Baza and just wandered around town (after a refreshing Diet Coke with extra ice). The buildings in the old town are lovely. As a bonus, the town’s small size pretty well insured we couldn’t get too lost. Unfortunately, all the shops close from 2-5PM, and we arrived at 1:45. So, after we strolled around for a while, we headed back to the caves and grilled up some lamb for dinner. A relaxing end to a relaxing week.

Back-to-Back Ian Hunter

Ian Hunter Leamington Spa 14 June 2013
Ian Hunter Leamington Spa 14 June 2013

Ian Hunter is getting on, so any show could be his last, really. With that in mind, we did something that seemed a bit more in keeping with being a Belieber or Directioner (yes, I can thank my teaching career for knowing those terms, and who they are referring to)– we went to back-to-back Ian Hunter shows, despite them being in two totally different places. 

He was getting ready for the Isle of Wight Festival, which may have a more inspired name, but I can’t be bothered to Google it. I can tell you that you have to take a ferry to get there, and sometimes the weather is terrible, even by English standards. I wasn’t too interested in that, but a couple of days in scenic towns seemed alright, so off we went.

First stop: Holmfirth, best known as the setting of Last of the Summer Wine, which Craig assures me was good in the early years. I’ll take his word for it, as it really hasn’t stood the test of time. We stayed at a little pub on the side of a stream, which despite being as least as picturesque as that sounds, we managed to not take any photos. 

No old men sliding down the hill in washtubs, but still pretty good.
No old men sliding down the hills in washtubs, but still pretty good.

As we walked to the town center for the show, we took about fifty photos of the landscape and the horses which seemed to be the pet of choice in the area. That, or the farmers had tiny farms with one horse each.

We arrived early enough to claim center balcony seats with no one in front of us. Billy Bragg likes to joke that no one goes to hear him sing. Ian Hunter could give him a run for his money in that regard, but it was a good show. He played all his hits (or at least all the songs that I knew) and no crap. Morrissey, are you listening?

Ian Hunter Holmfirth 13 June 2013
Ian Hunter Holmfirth 13 June 2013

The next morning, we were actually in pretty good condition, and decided to hike from Magdale to Deer Hill Reservoir. In our usual way, we started off by walking two miles in the wrong direction. Sorted out by the magical iPhone blue dot, we managed to walk three miles in the correct direction before it started raining. Plan B: have a snack in Sid’s Cafe and catch a bus back to our car. 

Where's Ivy?
Where’s Ivy?

Plan B successfully accomplished, we hit the road for Leamington Spa and Ian Hunter. We got to the show early, but not early enough to grab one of the few tables, but we managed to sit in the VIP section. Eventually, everyone who didn’t have a pass got kicked out except for us. There were only a handful of “VIPs”, and we were off to the side, and they left us alone. I guess Craig looks like he could be a VIP…

The show was good, but since it was for all intents and purposes a rehearsal, it was largely the same as the previous night’s setlist. Fortunately, it was a good setlist. As seems to be par for the course, he didn’t include the song I wanted to hear. Once again, he singed off with All the Young Dudes and Goodnight, Irene and we were off to bed with an early start for Sheffield (City on the Move!) planned.

Cumbrian Coastal Path: Maryport to Allonby and Back

A warm summer day on the English coast.
A warm summer day on the English coast.

One thing I love about England is the plethora of well-marked trails. Sure, Korea is covered with mountains covered with trails, most of which are well-marked, but England has trails everywhere. Whether you are in a rural or urban area, you can generally find a marked trail and probably a book detailing more information than you would ever want or need about it.

We decided to check out the Cumbrian Coastal Path, since we were staying nearby. So, early one Sunday morning, we parked up at the Maryport promenade and started walking to Allonby. The roundtrip would be roughly ten miles– a nice, gentle hike on flat land.

Well, the CCP is sign posted. However, this portion of the path is either promenade or overgrown plants and grass. Clearly, it will not be giving the Hadrian’s Wall walk a run for its money.

If the council doesn't have a lawnmower, surely they can find some sheep.
If the council doesn’t have a lawnmower, surely they can find some sheep.

It was nice enough scenery, but cutting a path through brush gets old fast. We stopped in Allonby for Sunday dinner at the pub (along with the rest of the town, it seemed) and turned around.

Allonby! Just in time for Sunday dinner.
Allonby! Just in time for Sunday dinner.

We often break long paths into multiple trips, but I think I’ll just read Ruth’s blog for an account of the rest of the Cumbrian Coastal Path. If people going on long walks impresses you, Christian Nock is also walking the entire UK coast, but without stopping. His blog is really a collection of links to newspaper articles about his walk, but you can also donate to help homeless vets there.

Bitch Produce– The Best Race Name EVER

Neck and neck to the finish line.
Neck and neck to the finish line.

We were staying at my in-laws’ caravan in the Lake District for a few days and casting about for things to do, when Craig saw an irresistible notice in the local newspaper. It seems that hound owners and enthusiasts get together to check out each other’s young. They call it the Bitch Produce. Excellent. We were in.

This wasn't his first time at the rodeo... er, bitch produce.
This wasn’t his first time at the rodeo… er, bitch produce.

We drove to nearby Frizzington the next day for the 10-mile race. Unfortunately, having only been to greyhound tracks, we were ill-prepared for this sort of dog race. Everyone else was properly kitted out with wellies and binoculars, because the spectators stand on top of a muddy (it’s England, after all) hill and watch the dogs in the far, far distance.

I've circled the dogs. They appeared farther away in real life.
I’ve circled the dogs. They appeared farther away in real life.

We did have a little cash to lay bets, so we ignored the mud and just moved around the hill following the old men’s cues. For the record, all of my bets were on winners, but Craig only placed money according to my guesses once. So, we walked away with £25, which covered our entry fees with enough to spare for a couple of ice creams. Win!

Craig, ignoring my fine picks.
Craig, ignoring my fine picks.

 

Great Gable

The day after we left Scotland, we went to Great Gable in the Lake District for a nice hike. There are many routes to the top, and Craig assured me that we would be taking one of the less strenuous ones. And I believed him.

We should have heeded the omen.
We should have heeded the omen.

Once we got past the sheep, who were clearly trying to tell us to just turn back, we parked up at a pub/ camping ground and made our way past several enclosures full of sheep toward the mountain. Unbeknownst to us at the time, those few minutes were the last bits of clear weather we would enjoy.

The fog is just starting to creep in.
The fog is just starting to creep in.

The path began with a gentle climb, and I was feeling like my walking poles were a bit over the top, like I was one step closer to turning into one of those Korean hikers I mocked for wearing $1000+ worth of gear to hike up a 200m high hill.

Soon enough, I understood why Craig had wanted to bring them. The path quickly grew steeper as the stony dirt became loose gravel. Not my favorite combination at all. As I gingerly made my way up the hill, trying not to slide/ tumble down, Craig regaled me with the story of a previous trip up Great Gable which entailed basically being stuck at the top in the cold rain. Lovely.

Eventually, we reached the top without breaking any bones and were rewarded with a lovely view for miles around lucky not to physically bump into any other hikers. With the weather continuing to worsen, our plans for a nice picnic at the top devolved into a quick couple of photos and an even quicker snack.

Apparently, there are magnificent views from the top of Great Gable.
Apparently, there are magnificent views from the top of Great Gable.

As we hurried back to the car, we passed a man carrying a bicycle. Then another. I stopped the third and learned that the four of them were riding coast to coast to raise money for GOSH, the UK equivalent of St. Jude’s. I guess they thought donators weren’t really getting value for money if they didn’t include any mountain peaks.

Edinburgh in Summer

Obligatory shot of Edinburgh Castle
Obligatory shot of Edinburgh Castle

As I’m writing these posts, I’m realizing just how far behind I am. In June (six months and one week ago), we went to Edinburgh pretty much immediately upon our return from Iceland to see Billy Bragg. We decided to make a trip of it, and stayed three nights at the Lochend Apartments.

It was about a 30 minute walk from the CBD, but that’s fine, because the CBD is mostly just full of tourists. The distance from the center also meant that for the same price as a chain hotel room, we got a two-bedroom apartment with a kitchen and washing machine. That’s my kind of trade off.

While we were there, we also decided to go to the US Embassy, so I could get extra pages put in my passport. I could have gotten a new passport with my married name and nothing but blank pages, but we didn’t think we had ten days. HAHAHAHA! Oh, well, live and learn.

A little slice of America: gripy government workers with short hours.
A little slice of America: gripy government workers with short hours.

The embassy was an entertaining way to while away a morning, if you have absolutely nothing to do. There were three people, including myself, there for “citizen services”, but one woman (of the three staff visible) carped for about an hour about how we should really be going to the London office, because none of us were Scottish residents. Apparently, that ratio of one staff person per passport was too much for her to handle.

After a lengthy wait, my passport was taken off me and I was told to return several hours later. Sticking one booklet inside of another booklet and affixing it is time-consuming. Suddenly with a bit of time to fill, we decided to to for a walk.

Arthur's Seat from the bottom.
Arthur’s Seat from the bottom.

Arthur’s Seat is a nice little hike, if you want to feel like you’ve done some exercise, without actually really doing any. It’s only about 100m high, and you are rewarded with 360° views of Edinburgh. The down side is that about a thousand other people will be there, too, and the path is only 1.5 people wide.

Arthur's Seat from the top. This is the angle that doesn't show all of the tourists around us.
Arthur’s Seat from the top. This is the angle that doesn’t show all of the tourists around us.

As it was conveniently located nearby, Arthur’s Seat fit the bill. At the appointed hour (the embassy has very short hours for dropping off/ picking up passports), we retrieved my passport from the guard– apparently peeling off backing and sticking the pages in had tuckered out the actual staff.

All that was left for us to do was head over to Queen’s Hall for Billy Bragg. I tried to find the set list, but… it wasn’t on the first page of Google. At any rate, what I can reliably report six months on, is we had good-ish seats and he played a bunch of new songs, most of which I quite liked, as well as all the old ones you expect to hear. In other words, a great show.

Billy Bragg, Queen's Hall, 3 June 2013  (I said good-ISH seats. )
Billy Bragg, Queen’s Hall, 3 June 2013
(I said good-ISH seats. )

Esk Valley Walk Part One

A few days after arriving back in England, officially homeless and unemployed, we headed off to the Fox and Hounds. Despite the owner’s lack of imagination in terms of names, the room was quite nice and the food was good. Even better, the entire town seems to be populated by ukelele players.

By mid-evening, the place was packed, and we were the only ones sans ukelele. Craig tried to take a few photos, you know, because awkwardly taking photos of strangers is man’s work. Sadly, he wasn’t able to get a good shot.

Here a uke, there a uke, everywhere a uke uke.
Here a uke, there a uke, everywhere a uke uke.

Eventually, we got tired of listening to the oddest jam session in history and toddled off to bed. In the morning, we were up and on the moors by 5AM. We basically just followed other people’s paths, a foolhardy method for people as directionally challenged as the pair of us, but we made it back to the hotel just fine.

Only the sheep were up before us.
Only the sheep were up before us.
Hot fun in the summer time.
Hot fun in the summer time.

Along the way, we ran into grouse blinds, which I had never seen before. Craig spent some time as a grouse beater as a kid, so he explained the whole thing to me. It all sounds a bit ridiculous to someone coming from a place where a year-long “Sportman’s Paradise” (read: every animal you might want to kill and eat) license goes for US$100. Apparently, hunters pay £150to shoot grouse one day a year. To make it more exciting, or something, “beaters” (aka teenaged boys) flush the birds, so the hunters can stay in their hides and just shoot. Sounds sporting.

I've seen foxholes that weren't camouflaged that well.
I’ve seen foxholes that weren’t camouflaged that well.

The next morning, we walked a bit of the Esk Valley Walk/ Esk Valley Way, from Danby to Glaisdale. I’m not sure how many miles we put in, but the entire thing is only about 35 miles, so I can safely say we walked not that far. (Craig keeps a spreadsheet of how many miles we walk each day. He has his way, I have mine.)

It was a bit windy on the moors.
It was a bit windy on the moors.

At any rate, the Esk Valley Walkway (since apparently the name is undecided), is a nice, gentle walk. It’s meant to take about three days, but we completed it over something like five, over the course of the summer. Wouldn’t want to squeeze it all in at once. Besides, we had plans in Matlock Bath.

I'm sure he's famous.
I’m sure he’s famous.

After navigating the steepest, twistiest, narrowest roads I’ve ever seen, we met up with some of Craig’s Glastonbury friends at the Fishbowl for a few drinks and to see Boo Hewerdine. Since he, once again, did not play Geography, Craig gave him a bit of stick while buying his latest CD. Did I say “a bit”? I meant “so much that Boo signed the CD, ‘Sorry for everything.'”

It's not even a one way street.
It’s not even a one way street.

While catching up before the show, I managed to wangle an invitation invited the two of us over to his friends’ house the following night for Eurovision. It was amazing! I had only ever seen it parodied on comedy shows, but the reality is so much worse than I had even imagined. I can’t believe the US hasn’t gotten in on this. Surely, each of the fifty states, DC, and Puerto Rico could come up with something even more ostentatious and outlandish. ‘Muricavision. Get on it networks!